Tingle
by netherfield
Summary: LL. The Challenge Stories: A series of separate, though related, short stories for the TWOP ficathon. Takes place at a late summer wedding at The Inn. Complete.
1. Lyric

PG-13. I do not own these characters or lyrics.

For TWOP ficathon Soundtrack Challenge: 'I Found Love' by Free Design  
  
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Lyric: **_'...There is a lightness, politeness, fingers tingle, tootsies tap....'  
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"I still can't believe you let your mother choose your dress!" said Sookie in amazement.  
  
Lorelai sighed her agreement. "I can't believe it, either. But it's not like I really had a choice. The thing is though," she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "I can't believe how much I really, really love this dress, damn it."  
  
Sookie nodded. her understanding, "It's gorgeous."  
  
"I know," said Lorelai glumly.  
  
"I mean, you really look fantastic, Lorelai. Like Natalie Wood. Only taller." And then, with added sympathy, "Boy, that must suck for you."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"So, is everyone out there?" Sookie asked by way of subject change.  
  
Lorelai peeked out onto the back lawn of the Inn, glowing with twinkling lights in the warm late summer night. The Chuppah, specially lit, was dripping with silver roses and lilies. She imagined for a moment that she could smell them wafting across the lawn and through the screen. Some guests were still mingling, though most were already seated in neat rows waiting.  
  
"Looks like it,' she responded to Sookie's question. "Man, my parents know a lot of people," she groused.  
  
"Well, so do you," said her supportive friend.  
  
"And I think they're all here too."  
  
"Well, you couldn't leave anybody out of the biggest social event of the year."  
  
"Guess not," agreed Lorelai. "And it's totally worth it to see Taylor's toupee again," she decided.  
  
"Dusted it off for the big night did he?" asked Sookie in amusement, as she sorted an enormous mound of flowers before her. She turned quickly to Lorelai then as a realization hit her, "Promise me you won't fixate on it as you go down the aisle and make me laugh?" she pleaded.  
  
Lorelai smiled as she continued looking out the window, "Now that, my friend, is just asking too much."  
  
"Your mother will kill you. And besides, you wouldn't want to hurt Taylor's feelings."  
  
Lorelai sighed, "When you're right, you're right," she conceded.  
  
She cocked her head then to listen: The quintet on the porch continued to play dreamy chamber music which echoed out through the trees and into the night. She tapped her toe a little as she listened.  
  
"Gatsby himself couldn't have done better."  
  
"Well, you know your mother... only the best..." agreed Sookie as she came over to peer out as well. "It's beautiful, though. Like a fairy tale," she sighed.  
  
"Mom!" said Rory as she joined them at the bottom of the stairs. "Are you ready?"  
  
She took a deep breath before turning to answer her daughter, "As I'll ever be! Where's your Grandmother?"  
  
"Run stocking. She's changing it now," was the answer.  
  
"Emily!" Lorelai crossed to yell up the stairs. "Get the lead out! The minister is waiting!"  
  
"Do not shout at me, Lorelai!" snapped Emily as she emerged at the head of the staircase smoothing her long skirt. "He can just jolly well wait..." she continued as she descended the stairs. "All the money I've donated to that church over the years!... Not to mention that ridiculous Rose Window your father insisted on putting up in honor of his mother... And the improvements I personally oversaw at the parsonage hall..."  
  
"Mom!" she barked to make it stop.  
  
"What, Lorelai?!"  
  
"You look great." And then she smiled at her mother with affection.  
  
The two women eyed each other at the foot of the stairs for a moment. Emily's lips twitched a bit, but was damned if she was going to smile, no matter how thrilling the occasion.  
  
"Well, thank you," she managed instead. "You look beautiful, too."  
  
"Good girl, Mom. Very polite," laughed Lorelai at Emily's characteristic demeanor.  
  
"All three of the Gilmore women look fabulous!" gushed Sookie enthusiastically as she handed out their respective armsful of fragrant white lilies.  
  
"You look pretty too, Sookie!" added Rory and then buried her nose deeply into the flowers. "Mmm... Wonderful," she breathed.  
  
"Okay, ladies," Lorelai turned to them, taking charge, "Last chance to hop a UPS truck: Any takers? No? Okay. Anyone need to use the facilities? Because I'm not turning around once we get out there..."  
  
"Lorelai, your irritating comedic monologue is only contributing to my nervousness," sighed Emily.  
  
"Right. Well, we better be off then. Damn the torpedoes! Full steam ahead!"  
  
"Ooo! Do I have time before the procession to check the cake one more time?" asked Sookie quickly.  
  
"No!" the Gilmores barked in unison before heading out the door to the accompanying voluntary.  
  
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Well, the first part, the difficult part, was over.  
  
And the women seemed pleased, Luke noted from his place of relative safety on the sidelines.  
  
He'd had to step away after the ceremony for a moment. The congratulatory crowd had just been too much and not what he wanted to deal with at all. Time alone with Lorelai, now that the deed was done, that's what he wanted. Not much he could do about that now but wait it out though, he decided in resignation. Besides, she looked so happy tonight–thrilled even. And that alone had been worth all the complications.  
  
These things really were all about the women, he supposed, anyway. He eyed the crush of people that had now moved on to the bar. Man, he could use a drink. Unwilling to brave the crowd, he continued to stew on the events at hand: First of all, too damn many wedding things this past year or so to suit him. Well, only three, he admitted silently, but that was still too many.  
  
And secondly, why do these things always have to be so fancy and stiff? He couldn't remember even half the dramatic vows and sugary blessings that over-dressed minister spouted. If he'd had his way, these things would be conducted privately. Out of public view. Simply. With simple words and promises. That's all that anyone needed really. But women will have it otherwise, he grumped to himself.  
  
And why couldn't everyone be in more comfortable clothes? And shoes? He'd had to buy new shoes, his last pair too gummed up by old polish. And these over-priced products of sweatshop labor he was wearing now were pinching and rubbing in particularly diabolical ways. He should never have let Lorelai take him to get shoes...  
  
And where was she, anyway? No way he was going to enjoy this without her.  
  
He looked about the milling crowd; a large group of the Gilmore's rich friends, the usual crazies of Stars' Hollow.... Most were still at the bar, guzzling away (Oh well, there was a certain satisfaction in how much that had set Richard back.) Many others were filling their plates at the lavishly laden tables. And finally, some were happily dipping their glasses in at the ridiculous champagne fountain in the gazebo.  
  
He turned his attention then to the enormous dance orchestra taking their places at the rented stage and concert shell Emily had insisted upon, and snorted ruefully with the knowledge that he'd have to get out there on that vast specially laid dance floor and make a spectacle of himself before the night was over...  
  
But then, at last, he saw her....  
  
And that changed how he felt right away.  
  
His breath caught as he looked across the tables and sighted her bare shoulders, where she stood towering merrily over the other women. He wondered illogically for a moment if he'd ever really seen her before. He furrowed his brow at the thought. Of course he had. But 'not really seen before this moment' was also true. No, not really, he decided. Not really seen her. Not really at all. Not like this. But there she was now. And she was incredibly... well, beautiful. He wasn't a poetic guy... he wasn't one for forming the right words for things: But... had he ever really seen her before?  
  
He watched her laugh and put a long arm around Babette's shoulders.  
  
Her arm... it looked sort of shiny to him. Smooth. Like something he wanted to touch. Of course he had touched her arm before. A thousand times probably over the years. But this time, right now... He really wanted, no, needed, to touch that arm. He wiggled his fingers unconsciously. Itching to run just the tips up and down both those bare arms... He breathed in deeply, indulging himself in the tingling thought of it. After grazing her arms lightly with his fingers, he'd open his hands wide to run the sensitive palms up and down as well, following the path of his fingers... Then he'd rub softly up and down too, and finally just comb his fingers out into her hair....  
  
Just thinking about that was... affecting him. 

Now, her hair was something else, he reflected then, as he continued to watch her.  
  
He really liked hair. All hair. The feel of it in his hands, between his fingers. He knew, self consciously, that whenever he got hugs, which admittedly wasn't that often as he was old and running a diner in a small town, (and wasn't really a huggy guy, anyway.) But whenever he did get them, from whomever, his hands always found a way to their hair. And her's was wild and wonderful and always sort of a mess... In fact, he'd like to touch it right now...  
  
And then suddenly he couldn't wait until later, when they could dance, like they had before at his sister's wedding. He could hold her then. And feel those smooth arms and smell that sort of tangerine kind of smell she had in her hair. And it would be okay then—Sanctioned, their dancing. Encouraged even. And she'd be away from all those women who were corralling her off from him now...  
  
She looked up and met his eyes then, breaking into his thoughts and plans and feelings with her smile.  
  
And he wondered for the briefest of seconds if maybe she'd even heard his thoughts.  
  
He plunged his hands into his pockets at the idea.  
  
But that was crazy. Of course she'd felt him staring at her. That's why she'd looked up. Probably everyone had, seen him that is. He'd practically been drooling. Idiot, he mentally shook himself. Geez, you're over forty, Danes, and it's just Lorelai, he chided inwardly. So he swallowed (hard) and responded in kind to her smile.  
  
"Hey, Luke." He turned his head to the voice.  
  
"Oh hey, Kirk," he shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"Shouldn't you be over there with Lorelai?"  
  
"It's a little crowded right now. And her mother wants us to circulate," he responded in resignation.  
  
"This sure is some swanky affair. I had no idea the Gilmores were this rich!" remarked the younger man as he looked about in awe. "There's fifty pounds of steak tartar over there. And they've got a carved ice bowl full of caviar the size of your head!"  
  
"What's your point, Kirk?" asked Luke in irritation, his feet hurting again.  
  
"You're well in there, old man," Kirk commented in an exaggerated undertone, then he nudged Luke meaningfully in the ribs with his elbow.  
  
"I'm going to the bar now, Kirk," said Luke before he walked away.

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She almost hugged herself.  
  
In fact, she did a little.  
  
Tonight was wonderful really. The way it should be after the long summer of ups and downs. And here she was now, so happy. And Luke was happy too she knew, whatever he said about his shoes and all the fuss. And Rory was doing better and her parents were happier than she'd seen them in years. And she just felt so... well, light!  
  
And she hadn't even hit the silly champagne fountain yet. (Pretentious or Tacky? She couldn't decide.) Oh well, she was gonna drink heartily whatever verdict she eventually hit on.  
  
But the best thing (the thing tingling down her spine even now) was the heightened awareness that he was watching her.  
  
Of course their eyes had immediately locked the minute she stepped down the aisle (and she'd delighted in his pleasure over how she looked.) But even since the ceremony's completion, amid the buzz of well wishers pulling and pushing them in different directions, they had managed to continue watching one another. She slightly more slyly, perhaps. Both, oddly, a little shy.  
  
So she'd talked and joked with the endless group of people who flowed around her, but at the same time was hyper-aware of him circling the edges of the activity. And of him watching her. Of him going to the bar in his frustration at being parted from her. Of him trying to evade Kirk and Taylor and Michel even. Of him wanting to be gone from this crush of activity but, above all, of him wanting her and enduring it all...  
  
For her.  
  
Poor guy she thought, and smiled. He's not getting rid of me now, though.  
  
Finally the crowd ebbed a bit and she spotted him seated at one of the tables near the orchestra, alone, waiting for her. She met his eyes and smiled and finally began heading toward him, feeling relieved at being able to do so...  
  
"Lorelai!" Her mother stepped into her path and stopped her.  
  
"Yes, Mom?" She craned her neck, vainly trying to reinstate eye contact with Luke.  
  
"Pay attention, Lorelai, you're being rude."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"What is over on that table on the porch?" Emily hissed at her quietly, lest the guests overhear.

Lorelai followed her pointed gaze, "Those are wrapped gifts, Mother."  
  
"I know they are wrapped gifts, Lorelai. But what are they doing there?"  
  
"Well, I assume people brought them, Mom. It's traditional for an event like this to give a gift."  
  
"Don't be patronizing, Lorelai. I know it's traditional," said Emily in irritation. "But people should send their gifts, not deliver them at the actual event like some sort of charity function." Emily turned her head quickly then to smile warmly at a passing couple, "Biddy! So glad you came! Love the Chanel!"  
  
"Well, Mom," Lorelai whispered through her own plastered smile, "Apparently not everyone got the Miss Manners Memo on that. Just let it be. Try to enjoy yourself. Where's Dad?"  
  
"He's over at the bar with all the other men," observed Emily petulantly.  
  
"Look," Lorelai deliberately lightened her tone and smiled at her mother, "Why don't you go get him and sit down at a table. I'll find a waiter to bring you some plates of food. You two can have a quiet moment together."  
  
"I don't know if I should abandon our guests like that..." doubted Emily.  
  
"Oh, I think the guests will be much more at ease if you are. At ease, that is," wheedled Lorelai. "Besides, you and Dad should enjoy yourselves tonight."  
  
"Well, I suppose you're right," agreed Emily. "Richard!" she called, and was off to claim him.  
  
Lorelai scanned for a waiter but not before smiling apologetically at Luke who was now seated in the crossfire of Taylor and Kirk's animated conversation.  
  
He looked clearly disappointed that she wasn't heading over to rescue him, and drained his second scotch.  
  
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So it wasn't until later, after she'd sent her parents plates of food and Rory to organize a more strategic placing of the gifts, ('Out of Emily's sight so that she'll get her panties out of the clench,' had been her careful direction to her daughter,) and, after politely suffering the fawnings of Patty and Babette over her gown, did she finally reach Luke's side.  
  
He stood and turned to her as soon as he was aware that she was behind his chair.  
  
"Hey." he smiled at her in evident relief.  
  
"Hey to you too," she smiled and leaned in to take both his hands in hers. "The music is starting. Wanna dance?" she flirted.  
  
"It seems appropriate for the occasion," he concurred, surreptitiously drinking in her smooth skin.  
  
"Lorelai! Lorelai!"  
  
Lorelai groaned and released Luke's hands to turn to her approaching father.  
  
"What do you need, Dad?" she smiled as genuinely as she could.  
  
Luke thrust his hands into his pockets again and looked down.  
  
"Your mother and I would like to take to the stage now to make a special toast. I need everyone to gather," said Richard importantly, taking her arm and guiding her forward. "Come along, Luke, there's a good fellow," he called over his shoulder. "Now, where's Rory? Oh, there she is! Rory! Come over here, dear!"  
  
And so Luke followed quietly behind.  
  
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As toasts went it wasn't that long really. Just pompous, though well-meant, he supposed.  
  
To Luke though the whole thing was an eternity.  
  
When at last it was over and the crowd had swelled over him like the ocean he felt them to be (he smiling and nodding as politely as he was able,) he finally felt a cool hand slip into his.  
  
He turned to look at her, his blood pressure raising. Huh. Weird that it should also make him feel sort of peaceful at the same time. Well, whatever. It felt good.  
  
"I found you," she smiled in triumph.  
  
He felt a lightening then of all the bother that had gone before and clasped her hand tighter.  
  
"I'm not letting go of you again tonight," he told her meaningfully.  
  
"Good. Because 'Oy, with the being charming and chatting already!' Let's go dance!" And she led him onto the already crowded floor.  
  
Once there though he stopped her with a look before she slipped into his arms.  
  
Maybe it was the scotch he'd tossed back while waiting for her. And watching her. He didn't know or care...  
  
But, 'Now,' he thought.  
  
And, 'Finally.'  
  
"Just a minute," he said and lifted his hands to her collar bone. Her eyes widened with curiosity and she crooked a little smile in anticipation...  
  
He rested the tips of his fingers ever so lightly at the base of her throat and then proceeded to draw them out along her skin, lightly tracing the line of her bare shoulders...  
  
She shuddered a little, tipped her head back a bit, and closed her eyes, giving into the sensation, only dimly aware now of the oblivious couples rotating around them...  
  
Slowly, lightly, Luke's fingers continued... they grazed down her arms, tracing and tingling down, and down some more---just inside her elbows, then just inside her wrists, then just inside her palms...  
  
They both caught their breath then and his fingers stilled.  
  
Lorelai waited, eyes still closed, until Luke opened his palms to meet hers, then began a slight rubbing back up her long smooth arms, a little rougher now, but still wonderful to both, until his hands reached her shoulders again and slipped back to the base of her neck....  
  
She felt a warm thrill spread throughout her being then as he finally, after the briefest hesitation, combed his fingers out through her hair...  
  
And just when she let out the softest of moans, it was over.  
  
She opened her eyes and looked into his darkened pupils.  
  
The tingle of this intimate public touching crackled between them, though Luke's hands lay at his sides once more.  
  
"I've been wanting to do that all night," he told her huskily.  
  
"Really? Badly enough to do it on the dance floor?" she returned with an amused smile.  
  
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, uninhibited by the sharpness of his arousal between them.  
  
"Yes," he whispered into her ear, starting the tingling all over again.  
  
"Hmm... glad I went with the strapless dress after all," she murmured with a sigh.


	2. Leotards

For the TWOP ficathon Theme Challenge #1: Things I Thought I Knew

I do not own this character.

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:  
Everyone has feelings.

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:  
To the world I would say, 'Ah, but you are jealous of my joy!'

Of course, no one is really.

Jealous, that is. That is just something I tell myself now and then to ease my way.

Because if anything, around here, I am a bit of a joke. Sure, they love me and I love them, but there is no sense in ignoring the truth.

A joke.

No one wants to be a joke, even if it is out of love. But, there it is.

Que sera, sera.

And I ask you; Why can't a three-hundred pound woman who has joy teach dance?

I can. I do. I do it well.

Honey, I churn out recitals and festivals like Osmond children—shiny, clean, and in perfect step. And in large quantities.

When I was young and Elizabeth Taylor told me that she'd never seen a better rack on anyone any where as we drank martinis in Peter Lawford's pool, I had everything in the world. Everything. I danced. I acted. I was paid to do so. I had a figure Elizabeth Taylor coveted.

Me, who spoke only Spanish until I went to school in the one dress Mama made me. She, God rest her soul, took on janitorial work at the bus station to keep me in dance slippers. And I myself cleaned the bathrooms at the studio and polished the smooth wooden floor—in barter for lessons.

It was much later, of course, that The Time came.

The time.

It didn't happen all at once. It wasn't a solid cold stoppage or anything so dramatic. More the cliche denouement, really. You see, it eases in quietly and while you aren't paying attention. You miss it entirely at first until that awful Martini-filled-All-Alone-Day when you can ignore it no longer. Because your leotards are fitting differently. And you haven't talked to Elizabeth Taylor in fifteen years. And Peter Lawford is dead. And no one but you drinks martinis any more—certainly not dancers.

Nowadays the fragile little creatures just vomit their luscious curves away.

Don't they know that this time and those curves are a gift?

Of course when I was their age, I didn't know either. That part for me, as I have just explained, came later.

But do not despair, Cherie, there are other gifts in this world to be had.

There is coming to a good small town with kind people and funny children to be taught and recitals and festivals to be done. Work and friends. That is what is important now.

I do not complain.

Because there is also sitting here on a beautiful summer night and watching love affirmed, with dancing afterwards, and good food, and a cake to be sliced and shared. This is the gift now.

That, and the dignity I pretend to.

So I ignore their barely hidden glee at my rolling walk. My humorous girth. I keep my head up.

I know... I know... A little sad perhaps, but there it is: To them I am a beloved joke, a parody. 

But... beloved.

So I play that role for them because it suits me to do so.

And because the alternative is to be alone.


	3. LaissezFaire

For the TWOP ficathon Spin the Genre Challenge. Choose an event and a genre to write about it in. Herein: A late summer wedding continues at The Dragonfly a la Shakespeare.

Feel the magic, madness and marriage of A Midsummer Night's Dream

**I.**

****

"Please, take one," smiled Michel oilily as he proffered a be-ribboned basket to a guest. "The happy couple would like you to have a memento of their special occasion."

"Why, Michel," said Patty wide-eyed, "These are from Tiffanys!" she exclaimed, as she fingered the small trademark turquoise gift box she'd selected.

"Naturally," tossed off Michel.

"Ooo! I wonder what it is!" said Babette in excitement, as she reached into the basket and took a favor as well, then shook it up next to her ear.

"Who cares, honey!" said Patty, "They're from Tiffanys, and we all know that good things come in small packages!"

"Not all good things, doll!" winked Babette with a leer.

"Oh you! Terrible!---- Though true!" laughed Patty.

Michel sniffed and walked away. There seemed to be a direct correlation between the length of time the champagne fountain in the gazebo had been bubbling and flowing, and the plunging level of couth-ness amongst the denizens of Stars' Hollow.

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He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

The good thing about a bar is that, usually, there are stools in front of it on which one might sit and stew. Fortunately Emily, in her great wisdom for such things, had the designer set up an extensive outdoor bar with numerous stools and staff.

Luke signaled one of these many smart bartenders from his perch for a refill, and continued to watch the activity about him.

He knew that, generally, men were superfluous to these events and of course, as such, he'd had no say in the number of guests (three hundred,) the food (caviar, steak tartar, odd vegetables from California,) or the attire (formal, painfully expensive new shoes.)

But none of that bothered him all that much truthfully.

It was the being apart from Lorelai that was really getting to him. He'd known as a key player, so to speak, and what with the blasted thing being held at her Inn and all, that she'd be busy. But being without her was making him antsy. It seemed that, given the circumstances, they should be together in this.

And, he wanted to be with her. Not waiting for her to finish circulating.

Thus far, they'd only been able to steal one dance. That was it. One dance where he got to feel her body next to his before obligation had separated them again.

That had not been enough.

Maybe, he hoped, he could convince her to slip away from this goddamn royal wedding just for a bit. He wasn't drunk (yet) so he knew that leaving completely was out of the question, but maybe just a stolen hour? Or half hour? Twenty minutes? He raked his hand over his face and sighed. Well, he wasn't going to make it happen sitting on his ass at the bar.

So Luke swallowed the remainder of his drink and stood up. He'd kept his eye on Lorelai since the ceremony's completion when the deluge of well-wishers with kissing, tearful congratulations had descended then separated them. Of course, he'd made his escape as quickly as possible and slipped over to the bar. She, however, remained firmly entrenched.

He eyed her in the middle of it now, talking animatedly to someone he didn't know (though he didn't know most people here, he noted yet again.) He saw then that, as usual, she knew how to talk to everyone. It was easy for her. He, on the other hand, had only one way of talking and it seemed to piss most people off. Generally that was fine with him, but he was well aware that he and the Gilmores were intertwined now, and he had no wish to upset their reactionary friends.

That is, if he could help it. The best way to 'help it' (so far) had been to hit the bar. But he'd grown lonely for Lorelai there all too quickly.

Finally though, he caught her eye. She smiled and he felt a thrill of anticipation right down to his core. He couldn't resist. He crossed over to her and whispered into her ear, "Could we _go_ someplace for awhile?" He hoped he didn't sound too desperate, but really didn't care if he did. Scotch was helpful that way.

"Meet me in the lounge in five minutes," she whispered back with a twinkle.

Her mouth still close to his ear, he inhaled of her perfume just before she pulled away. Damn. He was getting aroused just smelling her. Again.

Would this night never end?

He put his hands in his pockets, nodded, and walked toward the back porch of The Dragonfly, taking in the vista as he went: The endless buffet tables, the stage and concert shell (the Big Band orchestra blaring away,) the bar, the champagne fountain in the gazebo... And seemingly thousands of people dancing and guzzling and stuffing their faces. He stepped up on the porch now and glanced at a table in a corner laden with gifts. Geez. Was there anyone here who needed any of the crap that was under those fancy bows? He glanced to his right then where Lane and her band were tuning up at the other end of the wide porch (Lorelai had promised them they could play later, and was making Emily shell out big for it. 'The young people will love it!' she'd wheedled.)

He was pretty sure Lane could use a toaster or blender or something...

He stepped through the screen door and into the back hall thinking about blenders and the way Lorelai smelled at the same time, when he heard Rory's voice...

"Dean, this is not a good time!" She seemed to plead. "We have a reception going on here!"

"I know that, Rory! What was I supposed to do? You won't return my calls. You drive to Hartford every day to work, and your mom won't let me anywhere near the house---I had to talk to you!"

"There is nothing to talk about! Please Leave!"

Luke could hear the tears in her voice now, and much as he wanted to just sneak back out the door, tears had to be addressed. He stepped around the stairway and into the front reception area where he found Dean and Rory facing each other, she crying.

"Dean," he used the most menacing voice he could muster, and was pleased when Dean jumped a little. (Good. He'd been a little worried about his Menacing Voice lately as it was seeming to lose some of its efficacy on Kirk.) "I think it's pretty clear that Rory wants you to leave," he continued as he moved toward them.

Dean backed away a little. "I need to talk to Rory," he said emphatically.

Luke turned to Rory then, "Do you want to talk to him?"

Rory looked up at him, "No. I really don't," she told him, then lowered her eyes.

Luke nodded and looked back at Dean then. "Dean, she doesn't want you here, and you weren't invited. Now get lost. I don't want to ruin this night for everyone by having to throw you out."

"What's going on?" Luke turned then to see Lorelai standing behind him.

"Nothing," mumbled Rory, her embarrassment plain.

Lorelai stepped up next to Luke then, "Dean, go home. This is not a good time," she said firmly.

Rory turned then and fled from them all.

Dean started after her but was stopped by Luke's hand on his arm. Dean looked up at the older man and Luke was surprised to see tears in the younger's eyes.

"Go now, Dean," said Luke.

Dean jerked his arm free and with as much dignity as he could muster, walked out the front door.

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"So guys, the Gilmores are really giving us a great opportunity here," enthused Lane from her corner of the porch where she was rhythmically tapping her drumsticks on the railing.

"Not to mention a heck of a lot of greenbacks," added Brian.

"Lane, I don't get how playing for a bunch of smashed Republicans from Hartford is a big opportunity," groused Zack as he continued tuning up.

"Chill Dude, Lane's right. The rich are always having parties and events and stuff. It's good to get the exposure," added Gil in his typically good natured way.

"Whatever, Gil, I just don't like sucking up to the establishment. That's not what my music is about," zinged Zack.

"Knock it off, Zack," said Lane rising. "We need to do a good job tonight. If for no other reason than Lorelai has supported us from the beginning."

"She's right, Zack," said Brian as he swiped at his noisy nose.

"Alright, for Lorelai then," gave in Zack reluctantly, "Let it not be said that I forgot anyone on my way up, guys."

"Way to go, Dude!" said Gil as he clapped him on the back.

"Yeah, yeah, let's just get warmed up," grouched Zack.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"She's disappeared," puffed Lorelai as she rejoined Luke by the gazebo. "I couldn't find her anywhere. And I even hiked over to the stables."

"Yeah, none of the valet guys have seen her, and I checked upstairs, too," added Luke, "Do you think she went home?"

"Oh Luke, I don't know. I wouldn't think she'd leave tonight, but I just don't know... things with Dean are... complicated," said Lorelai as she pushed her hair behind her ears and scanned the crowd.

"Lorelai, what is going on with that kid and Rory?" asked Luke.

"Oh, Luke, I shouldn't say... Rory'll---"

"Luke? Lorelai? Is that you?"

They both groaned in recognition.

Lorelai looked up. Miss Patty was leaning out of The Dragonfly's brand new gazebo (built just for tonight) and was peering down at them.

"Darlings! Hello!" she called tipsily at them. "Come join us! The champagne is flowing and we're having a ball!"

Luke shot daggers as Lorelai grabbed his hand and began pulling him toward the stairs.

"What about Rory?" he hissed at her.

"We'll just have to leave her to sort it out for the moment," Lorelai whispered back. "We don't want to draw any attention to what happened."

"What _did _happen?" he asked.

They were in the gazebo now.

"Aw, aren't they sweet, Morrie?" cooed Babette as she gazed upon Luke and Lorelai, their hands still clasped.

"Sweet," agreed Morrie.

Lorelai looked about the circular benches surrounding the ridiculous champagne fountain her mother had insisted on. Patty, Taylor, Babette, Morrie, Kirk, Lulu and even Sookie and Jackson (with a sleeping Davey in his arms) were seated, each with a champagne flute in hand and crooked smile on their face. She had to grin at this sight despite everything.

Luke took in the same sight but did the opposite of grinning.

"So, what's going on here?" asked Lorelai in amusement.

"Oh, we were just all discussing _amore,_ my dear," said Patty happily as she took another sip of champagne and fanned herself at the same time.

"_Amore_?" asked Lorelai.

"Yes, it is the subject of the ages," added Kirk.

"Well, romantic events like this can certainly bring in the tourists," reflected Taylor.

"Taylor," laughed Sookie, "This is a private wedding. How does that bring in tourists?"

"Actually, Sookie, I was thinking about Valentines' Day," explained Taylor. "Perhaps a festival. It could be like a wedding. People love going to weddings."

"It might just work," agreed Kirk.

Luke groaned audibly.

"Gentlemen, we are not talking about crass business advancement here," reprimanded Patty, "We are talking about the magic of _love_! Oh, Michel! Look everyone, there is Michel! Michel is _French_, he'll know what I'm talking about. Michel?! Yoohoo! Michel! Come over here a minute, darling, we want to talk to you!"

"Well, I should really go check on my parents," said Lorelai as she felt Luke's hand tugging on hers to leave.

"Of course, hun, you go ahead!" smiled Babette. "Come back and see us again, though, cause we ain't leaving this champagne!"

"Okay, will do!" smiled Lorelai as she and Luke passed a grumbling Michel on his way in to the gazebo.

"Michel! Darling..." they heard as they made their escape.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mom? Dad?' How are you doing?" she asked with a smile as she and Luke joined her parents at the edge of the dance floor.

"I'm worried about the canapes," responded Emily. "Do you think there are enough?"

"Yes, Mom. There are still several trays in the kitchen waiting to be served," Lorelai assured her.

"And the brie? What about the brie?"

"Still two wheels to go."

"Well, good," said Emily. "And where is Rory? I haven't seen her since the processional."

_Well, that answers that question,_ thought Lorelai with a look at Luke, "Oh, you know," she plastered on a smile, "She's probably off with some friends."

"Well, I want to find her. It turns out that Biddy's nephew is starting at Yale this fall. I want Rory to look him up."

"Well, that's nice, Mom, I'll tell her if I see her! Going to go mingle now! Come on, Luke!" she said as she started to drag him off.

"Emily! Just look at Lorelai dragging Luke off that way!" Richard called out heartily, "They're acting just like an old married couple!"

Luke turned away with a grimace at that.

Emily grew thoughtful as she watched her daughter and Luke begin to cross back to the Inn, "If only he had more money... and a barber," she sighed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**II.**

Rory sighed as she looked about the moonlit apple orchard.

The Big Band music floated about her, even out here. Stupid cheerful dancing music, she thought as she gave a river stone at her feet a vicious kick.

The full moon and the twinkling party lights gave more than enough illumination for her to look about. She spied a lovely big downed log two rows of apple trees away, and walked easily over to it and sat down.

Why is it, she thought with her chin in her hand, why is it that it can be so easy for some people?

Her mother had always had men tripping over her. And now, of course, was tripping all over Luke, literally. Paris sailed through an extra load of classes, had an illicit affair at the same time, and was now slumming through literary England. Even Lane had fled her mother's tyranny and was finally making the life she wanted for herself.

I, on other hand, she thought miserably, the self-pity filling her eyes. I, barely make it through my first year of college and then jump into bed with a married man.

She realized then that she couldn't have screwed up any more without being pregnant (which, thankfully, she wasn't.)

She watched in silence then as a telltale Dragonfly, up from the lake, whizzed by and into the trees, scattering the lightning bugs in it's wake.

What was she going to do about Dean?

She knew from certain sources that he and Lindsay were fighting. What she didn't know was whether or not Lindsay (or anyone other than her mother and Dean for that matter) knew about what had happened that night.

She'd done well avoiding it most of the summer.

She'd been working long hours at an internship in Hartford, frequently staying over at her Grandparents. And then there had been this huge happy event to prepare for... And well, she'd just tried really hard not to think about it all and move on.

And, she'd failed at that.

In fact, she'd achieved absolutely nothing other than the realization that she did not love Dean.

Though he seemed to love her. At least he said he did, in the many phone messages he left.

And that made things very complicated.

And that made her sigh all over again, some stinging in her eyes now too.

She was beginning to wonder if either she or Dean were old enough to have any idea what this love thing really meant, anyway. In terms of the rest of your life, that is. And she hated that. She hated feeling young and immature and shielded.

But, she had watched her grandparents this past year. And she had watched her mother and Digger, and then Luke too, and she knew... She knew that she didn't really know anything. Not about love. Not about herself.

And certainly nothing about Game Theory either, given the overall progression of things. She added this last to the list ruefully and then kicked another stone.

So the whole year? Pretty much a wash really.

Fuck.

There really wasn't another more appropriate word.

She wondered idly then if that particular expletive was in the enormous dictionary her father had finally provided her. Huh. She'd never thought to look it up. And what was she, anyway, twelve?

Nope, just felt that way.

Fuck, again.

She turned her head then quickly at a noise. Someone else was coming into the orchard and she really didn't want to see anyone. Not while she was feeling twelve and like a failure and not even sure if fuck was in her dictionary.

Quietly she got up and moved away further into the trees.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They were all still in the gazebo, dipping their glasses into the champagne fountain.

Only now Michel was drunk too.

_Oh, what the hell! At least it was Dom, and not some vile posing California sparkling stuff, _he sniffed into another sip_. Besides these people were much easier to tolerate this way._

"Babette, I'm telling you it's true!" insisted Patty with a giggle.

"I don't believe it," slurred Lulu, "I never heard of such a thing."

"Oh, it's true," Patty assured her, "Especially on a warm moonlit night like this, and after drinking lots and lots of champagne!"

"True, hunh?" asked Babette dubiously. "I don't know, doll."

"My dear, simply _try it_," responded Patty airily. "Like this; Take a big sip of champagne, close your eyes and think about _'it'_, and then curl your toes just as tightly as you can... And, well girls," she looked at them with leer, "The juices will just begin to flow! (If you know what I mean!)" And she finished up with a wink and another hearty gulp of champagne.

"That's ridiculous, Patty! And more than slightly obscene." argued Taylor.

"Don't be such a prude, Taylor," Babette chided.

"I fail to see how sexual arousal can occur from curling one's toes," remarked Kirk.

Lulu collapsed into hysterical giggles at that.

Sookie and Jackson, sober now, wordlessly decided then that the time had come for their little family to leave. They arose together and began making their goodnights.

"We really need to get little Davey home to bed," said Sookie by way of explanation, as Jackson shifted the little fellow floppily from one shoulder to the other.

"Oh, but you haven't even danced yet!" objected Miss Patty. "I'll hold the baby for you," she said, then reached out for little Davey with a slosh of her glass.

Sookie's eyes widened at that, "Uh, that's okay, Patty! I'm awfully tired... We should head home."

"Don't be such a fool, Patty, you are drunk!" objected Taylor as he got unsteadily to his feet. "I'll hold the baby, Jackson..."

Jackson took a step backwards, tightening his grip on his son.

"You'll do no such thing, Taylor Doose!" screeched Patty into his face. "I said that I'd hold little Mavis!"

"Uh, that's _Davey_," interjected Sookie.

"Patty, you cannot hold a baby, you are intoxicated!" said Taylor as he stepped up to face her down.

"You're drunker than I am!" countered Patty.

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Oh, this is delightful," said Michel dully to no one in particular,"I did not think the conversation could sink lower than possible sexual arousal by toe curling."

"I am not drunk, Taylor!"

"Well, neither am I, Patty!"

"Hey! Everybody, _it works_!" screeched Babette suddenly, a delighted grin on her face.

"Did you curl your toes, Babette?" asked Kirk with interest.

"You are sloshed!" yelled Taylor to Patty, ignoring all else.

"I sure did, kiddo!" winked Babette, who then turned and began poking the dozing Morrie next to her, "Hey, Morrie, wake up!" she said eagerly.

"Taylor, you ass! You'd fall right down if you took another step!" declared Patty.

"Morrie! C'mon, hot stuff, let's go up to our room!" Babette was shaking him now.

Taylor drew himself up, "I am perfectly capable of remaining erect, Patty!"

"_Erect! _Hahahahahah!" giggled Lulu uncontrollably.

"Lulu?" Kirk turned to her in surprise, "Did you just make an off-color reference?"

"So prove it, Taylor! Prove to me that you are sober!" demanded Patty shakily, her hands on her hips.

"Very well!" he barked. "Come dance with me!"

They all stopped then and looked up at Taylor and Patty and their showdown in the middle of the gazebo, the champagne fountain bubbling away behind them.

"I'd love to," said Patty elegantly.

And with that a dignified Taylor offered her his arm, and the two waddled uncertainly down the steps, out of the gazebo, and off to the dance floor.

They were all silent a moment then, contemplating what had just happened before they were interrupted by Babette again..

"Morrie!" she cried, a little desperately.

"What is it, Babe?" asked Morrie sleepily as he opened his eyes.

"My toes are curling, hun! Let's go up to our room!" said Babette, and hurriedly pulled him up off the bench and down toward the Inn.

"Wow," said Sookie after a moment as she watched them go.

Jackson elbowed her in the ribs then and she turned to follow his eyes to where Lulu and Kirk were now passionately making out on a nearby bench. Sookie shook her head a bit and averted her gaze.

"Hmm. Disturbing. I think we better go home now," she told her husband.

"Okay," said Jackson and then leaned in, "Hey, Sook, after we put little Mavis here down, maybe you could curl your toes a little?"

"Oh, Jackson," giggled Sookie and swatted him gently on the arm.

And then they were gone too.

Michel sighed and looked over at Kirk and Lulu in disgust.

"Magic toe curling," he scoffed and downed another glass of champagne.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Lorelai, slow down!" called Luke as he followed behind her and then, "Ouch!"

Lorelai whirled around, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he sighed, "It's these damn new shoes, I just tripped over a tree root."

"Oh. Sorry," she said and began looking around. "Dereck said he thought he saw Rory come this way," she repeated what they both already knew.

Luke sat down on a fallen log, pulled off his shoe and began rubbing his foot. "Lorelai, why would Rory come into the apple orchard in the dark in the middle of the reception?" he asked calmly.

"I don't know," fretted Lorelai. "Maybe to be alone?" she tried lamely.

"Then maybe that's what we should let her do," said Luke gently looking up at her.

She met his gaze and sighed, "You're right," she conceded and sat down next to him.

They sat quietly in the moonlight for a moment and then Lorelai got up and knelt down before him and took over rubbing his foot.

"Lorelai, you don't have to do that," said Luke in embarrassment.

"I want to," she responded.

He tried to relax. It did feel good. He looked at the way the light caught in her hair.

"You've been a very good sport tonight, Luke," she went on softly then, still focusing on his foot. "I know how you hate big and fancy anything. I'm so sorry this whole thing spiraled into a..."

"Royal wedding?" he supplied with a smile.

She looked up, "Yeah, that's kind of what happened alright, tiara and all," she agreed with a snort. "And now this thing with Rory..." she added, eyes downcast again.

"I'm not even going to pretend to understand what's going on there," he told her.

She nodded at that.

He placed his hand gently on her cheek then, so that she might stop what she was doing and look up at him.

"I'm here with you and that's all that matters," he told her, looking into her eyes.

"Oh Luke," she breathed and wrapped her arms around his neck, "you are so good."

He pulled her up between his legs then and leaned in to kiss her, softly at first and then more hungrily...

Then, perhaps because of the scotch or the champagne or who-cared-what really, things escalated quickly.

Breathing became panting, touching became stroking, kissing became devouring.

Then, before either knew, his hands slid down from her waist to cup and squeeze her buttocks through her thin dress; whilst hers pulled out the front tail of his shirt to work up underneath to his chest so she could graze her nails lightly over his nipples. He responded immediately and pulled her tighter against his groin.

She smiled knowingly into his lips and ground her hips deliberately up against him.

When their moaning became audible, they pulled away from one another, foreheads together, breathing hard.

"I know a place where we could go," she whispered.

He nodded. "But what about the guests?"

"To hell with them."

"What about Rory?"

"She's a big girl."

"Is this how we want this to happen?" he asked, straining against his need to consider things.

"Yes!" she said and grabbed his hand to go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**III.**

They'd absconded to the attic of the Inn.

Luke blinked and looked about the enormous darkened room. The lights from the party below glowed through the windows. Lorelai still held his hand and was leading him to a corner where extra mattresses were stacked. He watched her rummage around in a box, apparently find what she was looking for, then turn and hand him one end of a fitted sheet.

He looked at her a moment and swallowed. She looked back. Just as aroused. Just as sure.

Then they wordlessly began to tuck the corners of the sheet around the mattress. And when they were finished, they stood again, looking at one another.

Luke cleared his throat. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper.

She nodded.

Luke looked down at the freshly made 'bed' and then back up at her in a little amusement.

"This isn't a little too 'adolescent' for you?"

She shook her head in the negative and spoke for the first time. "No. It' doesn't matter where, Luke. It's just..."

"Time?" he asked, his brow cocked.

She nodded again.

Then Luke thought of something. "I don't have a...--"

"It's alright. I'm on the...--"

"Oh."

And then they both smiled, which seemed to make it easier...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rory had left the apple orchard now, had hit the champagne fountain unobserved, and escaped to the front porch of the Inn to be alone and drink

She rocked herself slowly in a big wooden rocker now and sipped away.

Naturally, a loud sigh had to follow that.

"Now what could you possibly have to sigh about?" she heard.

She turned and blinked then to see one of the bellboy-valet-general-helping guys standing there in the standard blue Dragonfly shirt. She racked her memory a moment: Sam?

"It's Sam," he said with a smile, as if reading her mind.

"Oh, I know," she tossed off (doubting that she was very convincing.) Oh, what the hell. "Sorry, Sam," she went on, "Bad night."

He nodded and, uninvited (she noted in some annoyance,) sat in the empty rocker next to hers.

"This is quite an event," he began conversationally. "Must have set your family back a fortune."

She shrugged indifferently, "I guess."

"You're the one who goes to Yale, right?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, lucky. I'd kill to go there, but apparently even brilliant Chinese guys can't get scholarships these days."

"Well, sorry," she said grumpily.

"Yeah, I can tell," he laughed.

"Look, Sam," she snapped, "I am having a bad night. I'm sorry you can't go to Yale, but I'm really not up to patting you on the back about it right now."

"Not your type, huh?" he returned.

"What? What does that mean?" she demanded.

"Nothing."

"No, you meant something; So, what was it?"

"Nothing. Just saw Dean here earlier, that's all," he shrugged.

"That is none of your business!" she barked, the tears burning forth again.

They paused a moment.

"So... What? Do you love that guy?" he asked blandly.

"That's none of your business," she repeated in a fluster, and then, "No. I mean, I don't know!. I mean, it's none of your business!"

"No, it's not," he agreed softly. "I'm sorry for whatever's going on, Rory. You look sad, so sorry about that."

"Well... thank you," she managed.

They sat quietly then, rocking for a moment.

"It's just that your life looks pretty good to me, Rory," Sam began again, "You go to Yale. Your family treats you like a princess and... Well, you're beautiful and, presumably, smart. It seems that you could do a lot better than crying over some guy who is dick enough to cheat on his tall orange wife. Maybe you should think about that."

"_Excuse me? _You have no right to talk to me like this. I don't even know you!" Rory stood up indignantly.

He stood as well. "No, I guess you don't. But, I do know you. I've seen you. Watched you come around here. Seen you at Luke's, and the bookstore (not that you've ever lifted your nose to notice me.) I've heard people talk about you, too—Your mom, for one. I had thought; Hey, maybe I could be her friend... or something.... Everyone seems to love her."

"What are you? Some kind of stalker?"

"No, just a guy who works for your mom, who thought you could use a friend tonight."

"Well, I don't! I need... I don't know what I need!" she snapped in some dismay, "But it sure as hell isn't some Valet Guy coming to tell me about my life!"

"Yeah, well, sorry about that," Sam narrowed his expression, "Just trying to help. But now it's pretty clear to me that you are probably too spoiled to be interested in anything from some 'Valet Guy.'"

"What?! Just what are you inferring?""

"You heard me. You know what I'm inferring," he replied. "Maybe we aren't friends. But this 'Valet Guy' is here to tell you that this town is crawling with rumors about you. So maybe you should just consider getting your shit together, for your own sake. Just some free advice: Take it or leave it," he turned to descend the porch steps.

"Well, thanks for the helpful information, but I think I'll 'leave it.'" bit Rory.

"Hmm..." Sam turned then to look her up and down, "Maybe the rich are all alike, after all" he observed after a minute.

"Hey, buddy! I am not rich!" and Rory actually stamped her foot with that.

"Whatever. You do a pretty good impression of 'rich' then."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"You know, Rory, some of us would kill for what you have... Yale, a family that worships you, all the right connections for a powerful future career—It's called _privilege_, sweetheart, a la Dubya. I myself work two jobs and go to state school at night, by the way."

"Well, poor you!"

"No, not poor me. I'm proud of what I'm doing. But I do have one question for you, _Princess_ Rory..."

"Can't wait to hear it," she huffed sarcastically, then added, "And don't call me that!"

He appraised her for a moment.

"Just this: Have you ever lifted one finger to help anyone, in your life, that didn't involve some sort of self-interest?"

Rory was stunned by this.

"I-I beg your pardon?!"

Sam nodded appraisingly. "Yep, that's what I thought. Well, _Princess_, sorry if I hurt your feelings. Sorry I dared talk to you. We 'Valet Guys' really should learn our place. You better just hurry yourself up to bed now—Oh, and be sure to call one of the maids to check for a pea under the mattress. Wouldn't want you to get any unsightly bruises or anything!"

"That's not fair!" said Rory venomously.

"Goodnight, Princess," said Sam with a maddening wink, before walking back out to the valet station with a whistle.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**IV.**

"Mrs. Gilmore, I really want to thank you for this opportunity for us to perform," said Lane sincerely.

"Well, I was happy to do it," responded Emily graciously. "I believe that Lorelai was right. There are a lot of young people here who would really enjoy your _sort_ of music while the orchestra takes breaks."

"Well, again, it means a lot to us."

"Lane!" Rory hurried breathlessly up to her friend.

"Rory! Where have you been all evening?" demanded Emily.

"Oh, circulating," evaded Rory, her eyes downcast.

"And now, I can't find your mother or Luke," frowned Emily as she scanned the crowd.

"Rory, I'm so excited!" said Lane, turning to her friend. "You haven't seen us perform in a long time. We've gotten so much better," she enthused, and then, "Hey, are you all right?" she added then, her voice turning to concern.

Rory bit her lip, "Yeah, I'm fine. And I can't wait to hear you! Can I help you get your set on the stage?"

"Yeah, thanks, we're just waiting for the orchestra to clear now."

"Okay, 'Rory the Roadie' awaits your command," replied Rory and slipped her arm comfortingly around her friend to watch the orchestra's final number.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It had been awhile since she'd felt a man's body move against her own.

Longer, in fact, than she cared to admit.

So this felt good. She sighed a little 'Hmmm' into Taylor's ear then, as they continued to sway to _'As Time Goes By._' And, surprisingly, the man could dance. Who would have thought?

He'd always been such a pain in the ass.

So, who would've thought?

She closed her eyes and snuggled closer then, floating on a champagne cloud...

Delightful.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I think I hear Lane's band," said Lorelai, as she sat up and looked out the window above the mattress. "Yeah, look at that... They are so cute."

Luke stretched a little, and looked at Lorelai's gleaming body in the dim light, as she leaned against the window sill.

He took in the arch of her back and the gentle uplifting of her breasts. Fuller, he noted, than he'd allowed himself to notice before.

Then he couldn't resist, he stretched his hand up to stroke down her silky back.

She turned her head and looked at him in some amusement.

"Feeling neglected?" she asked.

"Of all the things I've felt in the past hour, neglected has not been one of them," he assured her with a smirk.

She sat back from the window on her heels at that and bit her lip a little.

"So..." she began hesitantly, "Okay?"

"You mean us?" he asked.

She nodded.

"More than okay. I'd say wonderful, even."

She smiled an amazingly bright smile then which, even now, flipped his stomach right over.

"It's just that first times together aren't always..." she began.

He nodded and pulled her down over him like a blanket.

"You and I are perfect," he whispered into her hair.

She shivered a little thrill at that and cuddled in more comfortably against his chest.

They breathed quietly together for a moment.

"I love you," she whispered softly.

He caught his breath and swallowed.

"I love you too," he returned without hesitation.

And here it is, she thought. After years and years. Here it is: The future, coming together, meeting perfectly, like a paper high school cootie catcher—all the pieces meeting in the middle. Huh. 'Who woulda thunk it?' She felt more than a little giddy in light of it all: An Inn, a grown daughter at Yale, someone to love and be with and now, possibly, a future too. All the pieces touching and fitting as they should. She knew this now, in this moment, and without a doubt. And what a moment it was, she sighed in contentment.

For his part, Luke had moved on to planning as he rubbed his open palm up and down Lorelai's skin, an action he was quickly becoming addicted to, as it never ceased to give him a tingle. Let's see... They'd live at her house, that was a no-brainer. The apartment was nothing compared to this, to what waking up with her would be. He'd bring his father's Mission clock. Lorelai loved that piece. Closet space would be an issue. He'd been in her room often enough to know that, but if they expanded down the hall to that little junk room she had, he could open up the closet and the bathroom at once. That wouldn't be much trouble. The bathroom wiring had needed re-doing for sometime now. And that outlet near the tub had always concerned him...

"What'cha' thinking about?" she interrupted his thoughts playfully.

"Hmm... Wouldn't you like to know?" he returned.

"I don't know. Would I? Was it dirty?" she asked.

He only snorted in reply.

Lorelai sat up again and looked out the window once more, "Sit up, Luke! Look, there's Rory. She's dancing with Michel!" she laughed. "She must be feeling better."

Luke did as he was told and looked down at the writhing antics of the drunken guests below.

"Hey, Lane's band isn't half bad," he commented.

Lorelai smiled at him then returned her gaze to looking out over the crowd.

"Oh! My! God!" she suddenly intoned.

"What?!"

"Look!" she screeched and pointed to the center of the mob at one couple who were stubbornly still clinging to each other in semblance of a slow dance, despite the current upbeat tempo.

"Ah, Geez! I cannot look at Patty and Taylor slow dancing while we are... _naked_, Lorelai," Luke reddened.

"D-d-did _he_ just grope _her_ ass?!" asked Lorelai in horror.

"What?!" Luke turned away from the window instantly, "Lorelai, do not make me look at them!"

"Okay," said Lorelai, her voice now deadly calm, "Then I probably shouldn't tell you what Patty just did in response."

"That's right! No, you should not!' he agreed, his eyes squeezed shut.

Lorelai was silent for a moment then, unable to tear her eyes away.

"You're gonna tell me anyway, aren't you?" he finally asked, girding up for it.

"She just licked his ear," was her response.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**V.**

Michel looked out over the crowd and reflected on the evening.

On the plus side: French champagne, caviar, fine music.

On the negative: Too many of the Stars' Hollow riffraff, Lorelai always insisted on.

On the positive: Two excellent leads on antique medical implements from the Hartford contingent.

On the negative: Various sexual antics by Stars' Hollow riffraff.

On the plus: At least two pounds of leftover Steak Tartar for PawPaw and ChinChin.

On the minus: Kirk making out with Lulu.

On the plus: One word---Truffles!

Minus: Patty making out with Taylor on the dance floor, no less.

Plus: Lorelai had disappeared and was not taunting him.

Minus: Lorelai had disappeared and was not helping him.

On the plus again: Mr and Mrs. Gilmore were setting a lovely example by waltzing when the orchestra returned.—At last! A return to civility.

Negative: Apparently Stars' Hollowians can also waltz.

Plus: Lane's band not too terrible, after a great deal of champagne.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mom! Dad!" she called as she approached them, Luke in tow.

"Lorelai Victoria Gilmore, where have you been?" demanded Emily.

"W-well, we, um, circulated, and just now hit the champagne fountain."

"I haven't seen you in over an hour," complained her mother.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she slurred a bit then hiccuped. "Oops!" she giggled, "Hit that fountain harder than I thought!"

"Lorelai.." began her mother.

"Emily, may I have this dance?" interrupted Luke.

Emily turned a keen eye on him then. She wasn't flustered, as he'd hoped, but she was momentarily deflected from Lorelai. That must count for something, he told himself.

"You wish to dance with me, Luke?" she asked suspiciously.

"Of course," he assured her in what he hoped was a convincing way.

Emily smiled knowingly and turned a shrewd eye back on Lorelai.

"This one's a keeper, Lorelai," she told her.

"I know, Mom."

Luke offered Emily his arm then, and they walked out on the floor.

Lorelai turned to her father then.

"Dad?" she asked.

"Yes, Lorelai?"

"May I?"

"Of course. I'd be delighted."

And they went off to dance as well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lorelai was safely back in Luke's arms now, dancing.

The champagne stirring her heart as they moved.

She looked about at the other dancing couples on the floor, from her perch (cheek against Luke's shoulder) and thought about them all....

Babette and Morrie—Hysterical for the size difference alone.

Patty and Taylor, gazing deeply into each other's eyes----Disturbing.

Michel and... Lane?—Now, that was interesting.

Her parents, so caught up in one another. And though this had often left her feeling on the outside as a child, now it felt... well—right.

She went on, in mental assessment...

Kirk and Lulu: Cute.

She and Luke: Perfect.

Rory and... Sam?: Hmmm...Interesting. Now there was a great kid for her to be with.

And then a wave of champagne feelings and Luke-nearness-tingle hit her hard and she dove in to nibble at his neck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_**Epilogue**_

Sookie sighed as she looked out the kitchen window the next morning at the party rental people who were packing everything up and loading their truck.

She must have missed a pretty exciting end to a pretty exciting night.

Oh well, someone needed to be here to take care of things this morning.

She turned and grabbed the economy-sized aspirin bottle from the table and strode out in determination to the dining room and took in the sorry sight before her.

"Ahem," she loudly cleared her throat for attention and immediately regretted it when she saw the large group wince as one. "Sorry," she added softly. "Okay, people," she went on, "You've all had oatmeal to line your stomachs and absorb the alcohol," she ticked off on her fingers. "Coffee for the caffeine jump, and orange juice for the vitamins and your blood sugar. Now, I want you all to give me your hands—That's right, open up your hands, friends, all of you. I am coming by to give each of you two aspirins. I want you to take them both and drink the entire contents of your water glass as well."

Sookie effortlessly flipped off the child-proof aspirin cap then and began her dispensing pilgrimage around the room, stopping at each table in turn.

"Luke, Lorelai," she began, "Here you go." Lorelai groaned as she accepted her aspirin.

Sookie moved on.

"Patty, Taylor," she dropped the aspirins in their hands next. Hmmm... wonder why they won't look each other in the eye?—curious body language there.

She moved on again.

"Babette, Morrie," she handed them each an aspirin apiece. Babette was sporting dark glasses too this morning, she noted.

"Rory," she said somewhat chidingly as she doled a couple out to her. Rory kept her eyes down.

"Michel." Nothing to say to him, really.

"Kirk, Lulu..." her head on his shoulder...._Awww_...

"Emily? Richard??" she addressed them last.

"Thank you, Sookie," said Emily graciously, taking her aspirin. "This was very thoughtful of you."

Sookie watched the pitiful sight a moment as everyone downed their aspirins and drank their water.

"Well done, everyone," she clucked approvingly. "Well, I guess my work here is done," she added and was about to return to the muffins in the kitchen when, instead, she stopped after another thought.

"Emily?" she turned to the older woman.

"Yes, dear?" Emily lifted her head wearily. (Richard hadn't said a word to a soul all morning.)

"I just wanted to thank you, on behalf of The Dragonfly, for choosing us to host the renewing of your vows," said Sookie, knowing Lorelai was far from able to make this necessary gesture on this morning after.

Emily smiled greenly, "Well, of course... You're welcome, Sookie. You and Lorelai did a wonderful job."

"I just hope that some day Jackson and I will be blessed to have had such a long marriage," continued Sookie dreamily. "I want to renew my vows too."

"Well, it was a lovely evening," agreed Emily. "Though, I'd advise against the champagne fountain." And with that she gingerly lifted her hand to her head.

Sookie nodded in understanding.

"My dear?" she asked before Sookie could finally turn away.

"Yes?"

"Would you be so kind as to draw those curtains?" asked Emily, simultaneously shielding her eyes and indicating with a delicate gesture.

"Of course!" said Sookie and scampered over to do so.

_Finis._


	4. Labor

For the TWOP ficathon Holiday Challenge

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Labor Day weekend and Luke is feeling pressure.

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"Who said anything about our getting married?!" she barked in exasperation.

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't me!" he snapped back.

"No kidding!" she returned.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"You just don't have such a great commitment record, that's all," she told him.

"Well, look who's talking!"

"Hey! I have tried. I have really tried," she told him softly, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down a moment—_ what the hell's going on here?_

He eyed her in silent anger.

"Luke, I don't understand where all this is coming from," she finally looked up to say.

He looked away.

"Has something happened? Why are you angry and yelling at me about marriage?!"

No response.

"Luke, answer me, please."

He couldn't.

"Gah!" she cried in exasperation. "You know what? I'm sure the running joke with everyone is how high maintenance I must be. But getting _you_ to talk, Mister, to explain what's going on inside that baseball-hatted-head... Sometimes, I just... Augh! Luke, honestly, sometimes it's just more work than I have in me."

He could only grip the screwdriver he was holding more tightly.

She waited one moment.

Nothing.

"So you're gonna stay mum?" she double checked. "Okay, Luke. Well, that's fine. Just... fine... Um, listen... I appreciate you're helping out here today, I really do. I don't know why the hell you're angry with me, but clearly you're not going to share. If you ever are interested in cluing me in, I'd appreciate it. But I'd just as soon not play 'Twenty Unanswered Questions' any more with you right now."

Still nothing.

"So, I've got to go back in and finish getting ready for Emily's event," she finally let out with a sigh.

And with that she turned away to walk back into the Inn.

_No wonder he's over forty and as yet to really commit! No wonder women leave him in frustration! No-fucking-wonder! He's like a big, huge, impenetrable... monolithic... unopening.... silent.. thing! It's like trying to get blood from a stone... What the hell is going on with him? _And then: _Is this how it's gonna be? _

She steamed and mulled this as she climbed the porch steps and headed for the kitchen. And then stopped cold mid-step as a sudden surprising wave of sympathy for both Rachel and Nicole washed over her.

"Gah!" she yelled at no one then.

_Women, _he thought with a snort, when he could finally form a coherent thought of his own.

Then: No, you ass, not _women_---_Lorelai...._

Ah, Shit.

**Earlier that morning....**

He folded the newspaper and put it under the counter. It was too depressing to think on, the news. Though he knew it would stay in the back of his head for the rest of the day.

He tried to shake it off. Go back to work.

The thing about Labor Day weekend and the diner business is that you just never know how it's gonna go. Some years everyone got out of town for one last hurrah in a cooler clime, other years folks stayed home and barbecued, but once in awhile, with no warning, people too lazy to cook came in droves. And he'd never been able to break the code and figure out how to predict what the diner attendance was going to be. It was a pain in the ass. He could have too much ground beef on hand and too little help, or vice versa. At least if it rained, he understood what the odds were, but with The Gilmore Event going on this weekend, and no rain forecast, it was a crap- shoot.

The fact that it was already hot as hades outside at six a.m. wasn't helping matters any either. He'd had to put on the cotton plaid instead of the flannel.

He turned over the last chair then and sat it on the floor with a sigh.

Then looked up to see her tapping on the door. He walked toward her unable to ignore the flipping in his stomach at the unexpected sight of her. After a summer of dating, it was getting harder (yes, in the _Dirty_ way) to see her without certain unbidden thoughts moving from the darkened back of his brain to the brightly lit forefront. These thoughts were mostly images really, images that invoked.... certain feelings. Images of them. Of her. Of them together. Of him watching her. Touching her...

He snapped the lock back then to let her in, trying to banish the thoughts back down. Cool off, old man, he told himself for the millionth time. When the time is right, it will be right. We aren't frickin' teenagers... Geez.

"Hey," she said as she walked in and leaned over to kiss him softly.

"Hey yourself," he said with a smile.

"You okay? You looked a million miles away."

"I'm fine," he said and walked behind the counter. She followed and slid onto a stool in front of him. "How come you're in so early? I'm sure you have a million things to do for tonight."

"A million and one," she assured him, "and I think you know why I'm here."

"Coffee?" he asked reaching for a mug.

"Luke!" she scolded dramatically, "How can you accuse me of such selfish motives when you know how I pine for you when we are separated? How do you know I didn't just miss you so much that I couldn't be away from you a minute longer?"

"So, it's the coffee?" he asked.

"Yep," she said and dove into a big gulp.

He shook his head and smiled. Almost.

"Get this," she said when she came back up for air, "I have to get to the Inn in fifteen minutes to meet with the ice sculpture guy."

Luke looked up from the doughnut box he'd turned to unpack. "Ice sculpture?"

"Yeah, 'Two Cooing Bluebirds'," she told him with a laugh. "And, by the way, the look on your face right now?—Priceless."

"Why the hell would anyone want a sculpture made out of ice?" he asked "Sounds like a waste of money _and_ water."

"Oh Luke, I know you are a forty-something lone wolf, but you must know that women dream of having crap like that at their weddings their whole lives," she laughed again.

"But it isn't a wedding, they're just renewing their vows," he explained.

"Your point?" she raised a brow, smiled, and took another sip.

Luke was at a loss to understand such things. "Your mother is sixty. She is still dreaming of ice sculptures?"

"Luke, she never got to do the daughter-wedding of her dreams, so she's doing another for herself. And I gotta say, despite the fact that it's still a pain in my ass, that I prefer it this way."

"Oh," he said in confusion. Huh. Emily would probably want some kind of fancy event for Lorelai, he reflected then. Of course she would. After only a brief summer of occasional dining with the Gilmores, he'd come to realize that everything had to be fancy with them. And expensive.

"Oh hey," she interrupted him, "I almost forgot: Do you know anything about fountains?"

"Fountains?" he asked dumbly still caught up in his thoughts about Lorelai's parents and what kind of... expectations... they might have. Or for that matter, _she_ might have. Huh.

"Luke," Lorelai leaned in concerned, placing a hand over his to stop the mindless counter wiping, "Are you okay?"

He shook himself and looked down at her: God, she was beautiful. God, he wanted her. God, he loved her....

_Wait a minute, Danes_...

You love her?!

"I'm fine," he told her.

_I love her_, he thought. Huh.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"What?" he refocused his eyes on her face. His heart was beating. He could hear his heart beating. Why was that? Could she hear it?

"Luke, you're scaring me."

_Get a grip, Butch_.

"Sorry, just thinking about the day... Stupid fake holiday; Labor Day. I never know what kind of supplies to lay in, how many people to have on..."

"At what time exactly to pack away the white shoes," she added merrily. When that got no response she moved on, "I thought you were closing early because everyone is going to The Dragonfly tonight?"

"I am," he allowed, "but I've still got breakfast and lunch," he reminded her.

She nodded. "Okay," she said gently, still looking at him curiously.

Luke gave himself another mental shake. "So fountain, did you say?"

"Yeah, Mom ordered this champagne fountain to go in the new gazebo that Tom built and I can't get it to work. I stayed until after dark last night with my flashlight and everything and I just couldn't quite get it to flow right."

"Lorelai, that purple fuzzy flashlight doesn't give off enough light to do anything," he told her.

Lorelai ignored him, "The fountain?" she asked pointedly.

"You really need a better flashlight, maybe two," he went on, lost again on his own trail. _I love her_, he kept thinking; _I love, Lorelai_. Huh. "One for the car and one for the house. No, wait, three," he went on, "One for Rory's car too. For emergencies." They'd had some on sale at the hardware store last week, he remembered. And then, again, _I love her._

"Luke! You're fading out on me again!"

"Sorry. Tell you what, I was going to pick up the Chuppah after the lunch rush to bring over for you, so I'll look at your fountain then."

"Thank you," she smiled beatifically and got up to go.

"Wait a minute!" he stopped her with a delayed realization, "Did you just say it's a _champagne_ fountain?"

"Yep," she grinned.

"What the hell is that?"

"Sorta like a cross between a garden decoration and a fancy drinking fountain," she shrugged.

"With?..." he prompted.

"Um, yeah —With ten grand worth of Dom running through it," she added, embarrassed by the typical Emily over-opulence.

"Wow," he whistled low.

"I know," she nodded.

The day continued to heat up like an oven. Luke even conceded to run the air in the diner, but it wasn't helping a whole bunch and the frickin' bacon supply was dangerously low. Damn fake holiday. You just can't be sure of anything.

This had turned into a 'They came in droves' Labor Day Saturday lunch rush (the BLT mysteriously popular) and even as it was now ebbing, the regulars seemed to want to sit and chat: The air abuzz with the night ahead.

"Wait until you see it," drawled Patty to Babette as Luke topped off her coffee again, "I got it on sale: Black and White zebra striped silk. I'll be gorgeous!" she fanned herself, and then, "Thanks, Luke."

"Oh Luke, it's so nice of Lorelai's parents to have her invite so many of us in town too!" gushed Babette as he turned his attention to her mug. "I'm so excited. This is going to be one swanky evening. I even got Morrie's bow tie out of storage this morning," she confided.

"Yep," was all Luke said. The wedding of the century was still hours off and he was already heartily sick of it.

"And then you'll be next, sweetheart," smiled Patty.

"Excuse me?" asked Luke.

"Ooo! That's right," squealed Babette, "A big fancy Gilmore wedding for Luke and Lorelai! I can't wait!"

"I've gotta make the rounds," he mumbled and walked away, their giggling delight following him across the room.

"Thanks, Luke," said Kirk as Luke filled his mug now, "You know Lorelai has invited Lulu and I to stay in the Inn again tonight," he shared.

"I know, Kirk," he snapped and turned to fill Lulu's mug as well.

"It was so nice of her," smiled Lulu.

"Yeah well, her parents have rented the whole place for the weekend anyway and none of their friends are going to stay over, so Lorelai thought it'd be nice," he explained, not even he could bring himself to snap at Lulu.

"I just want you to know that now that I am medicated, my night terrors have ceased," Kirk told him proudly.

"Well, that's great Kirk."

"So you won't have to, you know..."

"I get the picture, Kirk."

"So, Luke, I was wondering," Kirk changed the subject then, "if you'd be needing any of my services in the relatively near future?"

That stopped Luke in his already half turn away from them.

"What do you mean, Kirk?"

"Well, we all know you'll be proposing soon, so I just wanted to remind you that I am an experienced DJ, for both weddings and engagement parties and, I also wanted to let you know, that I write a pretty mean love letter, if I do say do myself."

"Oh, he certainly does!" agreed Lulu, her eyes shining.

"It would be a very romantic way to propose," Kirk told him meaningfully. "And as we are such good friends, I would give you a very good rate."

"You want me to hire you to write a letter of proposal?!" asked a dumbfounded Luke, trying to get it straight.

"Luke!" he saw Taylor waving at him from the counter. Best to just walk away from Kirk's madness, he decided.

"What is it, Taylor?" he snapped as he walked behind the counter. He just couldn't bring himself to sock Kirk in front of his girlfriend anyway, however much he wanted to.

"We need to talk," Taylor told him decisively.

"About?" Luke demanded testily as he topped off Taylor's mug.

"The fall tourists."

"What about them, Taylor?" he barked.

"I need to know how long you plan to close up this fall."

"Why would I close up this fall?" asked Luke.

"Well, I assume for your honeymoon," responded Taylor matter-of-factly.

"My what?!"

"I know you and Lorelai are little eager beavers and all—but do you think you could postpone things until, say, January? Things are always more slow around here then, and that way we wouldn't lose any tourists because they can't find a place to eat..."

"Oh," agreed Patty, at the counter now to pay her bill, "Lorelai would love a winter wedding, you know how she loves snow!"

"Oh yeah, she does," agreed Babette as she lay a couple of dollars over her check on the counter, "And that way Rory'd be on break and not have to miss school."

"I hadn't thought of that," agreed Patty thoughtfully.

"Just a minute..." started Luke.

Kirk stepped up with his check then. "A honeymoon in the tropics in January would be a great getaway," he mused.

"I'll bring over the brochures from my Carribean cruise later, Luke," Taylor added.

"I picture Lorelai in a much more romantic setting, like maybe Rome," said Lulu dreamily.

"_Rome?!_" barked Luke "Listen..–"

"Did I just overhear that you and Lorelai are getting married?" interrupted Reverend Skinner as he took over the last empty stool at the lunch counter, "Congratulations, Luke! Let me know if you need my services soon though. Lots of weddings in the fall. I book up quickly," he said amiably.

"Oh my God," squealed Lane, as she came in from the storeroom retying her apron, "You and Lorelai are getting married?!" she threw her arms around Luke for a quick squeeze. "Rory and I have been talking about that all summer! She didn't think you'd ever make a move and propose. But my money was on you, cowboy!"

That did it.

His knuckles gripping the coffee pot could get no whiter.

"Lorelai and I are not getting married!" he finally bellowed, unable to take it any longer.

And the enthusiasm emptied out of the room like water down a drain.

"Oh dear," sighed Babette, shaking her head sadly, "Don't you love her, Luke?"

"W-What?! That's n-none of your business," he sputtered in anger.

Then the mood in the diner perceptibly changed: From shock to frosty hostility.

Patty glared at him, "You better not be taking that girl for a ride, Lucas Danes."

"Patty," he clenched his jaw, "None of this is any of your..."

"I'll tell you what!" declared Kirk as he stepped forward manfully, "If you don't do the right thing by Lorelai, you'll have me to answer to!"

Luke blinked at that.

"I mean it, Luke! You're bigger and stronger but what's right is right!" Kirk slammed his hand onto the counter for emphasis.

Taylor stood up then too, "Your father would be ashamed of you, Luke!" he cast upon him and with that they all turned to go.

Luke deflated as he watched them all stalk out. Where had this day gone? From the gulping realization that he loved her to this... whatever had just happened. He looked down at the counter then without seeing it. His reflexes had just been unable to match the speed of life around him today. Why couldn't these nutjobs just let him do his work in peace?

He sighed his frustration.

He couldn't seem to process. Couldn't think of a thing to say or yell or... hit.

He looked helplessly over at Lane then.

She merely shook her head sadly, "You were going to go get the Chuppah after the lunch rush," she reminded him. "Everyone's pretty much gone. I'll finish and close up," she said and turned away from him too...

And then suddenly he was pissed. Not just annoyed: Fucking pissed.

He marched out the front of the diner then on the way to his truck, resisting the urge to smack the troubadour as he belted out 'Going to the chapel...'

He tried to calm down en route. He really did. And, truthfully, he did feel somewhat better by the time he'd loaded the Chuppah, stopped at the hardware store, and arrived at the Inn.

But then he'd walked in on the women admiring the wedding cake in the kitchen. And subsequently overheard Emily laying out the ideal scenario for Lorelai's wedding to an eager audience. In detail. _The hell?_ Two million dollar weddings of her own weren't enough for this woman? And did he just hear right? _A sleigh?_

Still, he'd tried to hold it all in. He really did.

Even later, after an hour and a half laying flat on his back underneath a _champagne fountain _of all things and in two thousand degree heat, beads of perspiration in his eyes, trying to get his screwdriver in the right place...

And it had been Lorelai's fault really. She had started it...

"Dirty!" she laughed as she sat nearby to hand him tools, "Can't get your screwdriver in the right place! Ha!" she laughed.

He grimaced, "The threads on the screw are stripped," he puffed with exertion, "If I can't get it loose, you'll never get the flow you need... And if you say dirty again, I'll... Wait a minute... There, got it!" he said in relief as the screw finally loosened.

He sat up in the swelter and lifted his shirt front to wipe his eyes.

From there things got murky, (maybe it was the heat) even when he went over and over them in his mind later...

She handed him a glass of ice tea and started babbling about how happy her mother was... How glad she was that her parents were coming back together... How perfect they were for one another and all... And then something weird about Sookie's mystical wedding cake making abilities... How this first wedding at the Inn was going to be so beautiful...

"I am so sick and tired of hearing about weddings and marriage," he sighed, more to himself than anyone else and took another gulp of tea...

"Oh," she said. That's all, just 'Oh.'

He'd eyed her at the tone. "What does that mean?" he asked.

She looked back at him cooly. "It means 'Oh' as in 'I am registering my comprehension of your wedding dislike.' That's all," and she shrugged.

"It seems like a waste of money in general," he went on contrarily, feeling sticky and miserable, "What percentage of marriages end in divorce, anyway? Forty? Sixty?"

"I don't know, Lancelot," she said, her eyes wide.

"I mean everyone tries to force you into marriage, when clearly most are doomed to fail," he went on bitterly. _Wait a minute_, _who said that? _he thought.

"Luke, no one is trying to force you into marriage," said Lorelai, her eyes cold now. She stood up from where she'd been sitting on the floor of the gazebo.

He stood as well, "That's what you think!" he snapped.

Lorelai put her hands on her hips and leveled a look at him.

_Crap_, he thought.

"Luke, _no one _is trying to force you into marriage," she said, deadly calm.

_Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack_, his brain told him.

He made a lame attempt, "I was just talking in general, Lorelai." He averted her gaze then.

"In general?" she repeated warily.

Being put in this position was not good. In fact, it was getting him pissed all over again. Yep, he was rapidly moving from cranky to pissed fast.

"Yes, _in general_," he emphasized, "Not about _us_ and... marriage," he added and bent to pack up his tool box, praying it would all magically end before he had to look her in the eye again.

"Who said anything about _our_ getting married?!" she barked in exasperation.

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't me!" he snapped back, rising again to meet her. (Full on anger now.)

"No kidding!" she returned.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"You just don't have such a great commitment record, that's all," she told him.

"Well, look who's talking!"

"Hey! I have tried. I have really tried," she said softly....

He couldn't even remember now everything else that was said, or not said, as he watched her walk back to the Inn.

_You love her, you jerk._

He bent over then and picked up a paper sack next to himand jogged to catch her before she went in. When he got to the porch steps, he grabbed her arm when she paused a moment.

She turned to look at him, her mouth set in a kind of fury. Her eyes suspiciously bright.

"Lorelai..." he said.

"Luke, I don't think we should..."

"Please," he said.

She looked at him, nodded, sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. Waiting.

He looked about him then and spied a porch swing in the corner and pulled her over to it.

"Sit down," he told her.

She looked at him darkly.

He sighed, "Please."

She nodded and sat, her arms still crossed. Still waiting.

He paused, not knowing what he wanted to say.

"Fucking Labor Day. Stupid fake holiday," he muttered as he set his bag down.

She cocked her brow at that.

He put his hands on his hips then and looked out across the lawn at the gazebo.

"Luke?" she prompted impatiently.

"I look at that champagne fountain and it seems like kind of a joke..." he said.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"I mean, I usually work my ass off getting ready for this weekend, you know? I order extra food, I fiddle with the work schedule. I never know how it's gonna go. What to expect. Whether I'll be hustling twelve straight hours or twiddling my thumbs as I smell the carcinogenic fumes of every barbecue in a forty mile radius..."

"Okay." She didn't really know what else to say.

"So, a champagne fountain on Labor Day? Doesn't that seem kind of contradictory?"

"I suppose."

"So..." he turned back to her.

"So?" she was absolutely perplexed.

"So, I'm _this_ guy, Lorelai... this Ground Beef Ordering Guy."

"What...?"

"I'm not complaining," he went on. "I'm lucky. I own my own business. It's going good."

She nodded, still struggling to comprehend.

"And when I know there are children in the fields in this country picking the strawberries for your mother's wedding tonight... and that most of them are homeless... Well, that puts this whole light on my life..." he sighed and looked down.

"Luke?" she looked at him in concern.

"Sorry... I was reading the paper this morning," he waved his hand to brush off what he'd been referring to. "Anyway, the point is, I think, that I am not a Champagne Guy. I'm a Ground Beef Guy."

"A Ground Beef Guy?" she repeated. "Luke, I'm trying to understand what you're saying but, God, trying to work it out is exhausting me. I need more."

He nodded and sat down next to her on the swing.

"I just... I need to know; Is this what you want?" he asked, and when she lifted her brows he went on, "I mean champagne fountains and ice sculptures and... and, well, _sleighs?_" he added in feeble defeat.

And the penny finally dropped for Lorelai on that.

"Ah," she said knowingly, "Sleighs. You're panicking because of overflow wedding pressure. You're thinking because you overheard Emily's megalomaniacal ramblings that we are supposed to...That everyone expects us... that I expect you to...?"

"I am not panicking," he grumped with a pout.

"Luke," she snapped, "join me back in the adult world for a minute."

He looked at her, "Sorry."

"Talk to me, Luke," she said softly.

"God," he raked his hand over his face. "Lorelai, I don't want champagne fountains..." he began.

"And caviar dreams?" she couldn't resist. He glared at her.

"Sorry," it was her turn to say.

He stood up and began to pace before her.

"I mean...Here it is Labor Day weekend and homeless children are working ten hour shifts picking strawberries, and I'm fixing a champagne fountain and I'm over forty and... I want you, Lorelai. I really do..." he ranted back and forth. "But I gotta be sure that it's me you want back—because I'm not some fucking champagne guy. I mean if you want snow and a sleigh, or even another thousand daisies, fine. Whatever. I'll do that for you just as long as you know that all the time I'll be thinking about those homeless kids because I'm not..."

"A Champagne Fountain Guy?" she grinned up at him.

He stopped in his tracks, turned, and blinked at her.

"Right."

"You're a Ground Beef Guy," she reminded him.

"Right."

"Okay," she said.

"Okay?" he repeated dumbly.

"My God, the work!" she exclaimed and reached over and pulled him down next to her.

"Luke," she began gently, her arms wrapped around one of his. "First of all; I want you too."

Luke gulped a little and felt a tingling in his stomach.

She lay her head on his shoulder then.

"Second of all; I'm almost as old as you are. I'm not twenty-two."

He nodded at that.

"I don't want a Dream Barbie wedding, Luke. If you'd thought about it, you'd know that nothing could be further from who I am. I ran away from Dream Barbie when I was sixteen," she reminded him. "Or was it Dream Emily?" she frowned, "Nightmare Emily? Anyway, Luke," she roused herself, "Though no one could accuse someone as self-absorbed as me as having much of a social conscience, I don't want a champagne fountain while homeless kids are picking strawberries either. And though I'm not quite sure how that all balances out in the scheme of things here today, between us, I know it's important to you. So I gotta think about that," she told him.

He felt strange then. Geez... _tears?_... was he feeling his own tears threaten? God, he really did love her.

He cleared his throat knowing, feeling, that his voice would sound as strange as the rest of him now felt.

"Lorelai, you and I... This is it..." he said hoarsely, "I think," he added with a whisper.

She nodded and smiled, "I think so too," she whispered back, and then. "Huh. Scary. We're talking commitment here, aren't we?"

"I think so," he agreed.

"But at our own pace, Luke. We're both too old for this crap."

"Yeah, we are," he sighed in relief.

She giggled, "Did you think I thought you had some hidden 'get-down-on-one-knee-with-a-ring' aspect of your personality I was just waiting for?"

He reddened.

"Oh Luke," she laughed, "That's no more you than Dream Barbie is me," she paused a moment in reflection then and added, "I did think once that there had to be daisies and a horse and... stuff... I don't know, these silly ideas of what romance was supposed to be, I guess. But I'm an older and wiser woman now.," she grinned when he snorted at that. "Now I know that fixing stuff, and loaning money, and watching movies you hate... Well, let's just say, I realize that it's this work you put in for me... That these things are what it's all about."

They both paused, thinking about that... Then Luke leaned in to her...

"Lorelai...?" he began, a question in his eyes.

"Don't ask, not yet Luke," she told him quietly, "It's too soon."

He met her eyes and nodded.

So instead Luke shifted and reached to his feet for the paper sack he'd set down earlier, sat up then and put it in her lap.

"Can we go steady then?" he grinned.

She grinned back, "Sure," she said and looked into the bag and pulled out three sturdy stainless steel flashlights.

"I put the batteries in them already," he assured her.

She looked at him and grinned again, "So, these are 'Going Steady' flashlights from the Ground Beef Guy?"

He looked down sheepishly, "For now, I guess..." he said.

"I love them," she said simply.

"Well, I'm glad you... love them," he swallowed and met her gaze steadily.

They paused in the moment then.

"So after you kiss me, will you come in and look at the ceiling fan in room four? It's wobbly," she batted her lashes.

He groaned.

"Work, work, work..." he grumped and leaned in to her lips.


	5. Layers

For the TWOP Theme Challenge #2: **_In Ten Years..._**

Details, feelings, words... and cake.

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As any rank amateur can tell you, the ability to bake and construct a tiered wedding cake is a craft requiring countless hours of practice (with many heartbreaking failures to endure along the way,) before it can be mastered.

Sookie St. James, however, is not a craftsman (ahem, _woman_,) she is an artist at her zenith. Not only do her tiered wedding cakes achieve startling heights literally, but figuratively as well. They are light and moist at once, and are breathtakingly beautiful to look upon—achieving elegance without being prim, and warmth without being common. And the taste!—Mouth orgasms, as Lorelai once indelicately put it.

When Emily Gilmore began preparations for the lavish evening she planned not only to renew her wedding vows with Richard (as they were now reconciled,) but also to launch The Dragonfly simultaneously with the elite of Hartford, she had almost flipped (not that she did of course) when she saw Sookie's exquisite portfolio of wedding cakes.

Sookie kept an album of the many cakes she'd created over the years (the coconut one with the palm fronds done in royal icing, the lemon cake covered with fragile sugared cherry blossoms, etc...). Such an album is a good thing for a professional chef to keep (as Lorelai had pointed out.) But more than this, Sookie was sentimental about them... (Ooo! Remember the pumpkin spice for the Goth wedding with cream cheese frosting and spider webbing done in minced nuts—creating the stencil for that alone had taken nearly ten hours of work.)

Emily's glee over Sookie's album is how she came to be working this particular Saturday morning on _the_ cake. Tonight was the big event and Sookie wanted the cake out of the way before lunch time so she could then turn her attention completely to the lavish variety of buffet tables Emily wanted laid for the evening.

No formal dinner, per se, was planned. But a wide variety of sumptuous nibbles (plentiful, of course) perfect for a warm late summer evening: Caviar on toast points (Beluga—overrated as far as Sookie was concerned, but what Emily wanted); Steak tartar; Jicama wrapped in prosciuto; Chilled smoked salmon (northwestern style;) Amazing cheeses, and so on... All very elegant, in an understated sort of way, and generously garnished with the very freshest of fruits and veggies that Jackson could produce or procure.

But to focus on the cake now: Emily had chosen bluebirds as the theme for her evening. She'd thought it quaint as in 'The bluebirds of happiness' had flown back into her life and, also, that it was fitting with a Country Inn setting. Therefore the cake must feature bluebirds.

This was not to be yet another dreary, conspicuous New York hotel event. Emily Gilmore was bored to tears with those. Besides, she had several objectives to achieve with this evening: 1) To show everyone who was anyone that Emily and Richard Gilmore adore one another. 2) To feature the charm of The Dragonfly (and ideally draw new business for Lorelai as well,) and, 3) To frivolously spend as much of her mother-in-law's money as she reasonably could at a single event (the estate recently settled)----This entailed such things as flying in copious amounts of Beluga, as well as that divine swing orchestra she and Rory heard in Paris.

She'd also ordered a lovely long-skirted couture evening suit from Chanel for the evening in delicious light-as-air shantung silk that was just the barest shade of blue. Rory and Lorelai would be in deeper, though differing, shades of blue silk chiffon—each a unique couture confection.

There hadn't been an event quite like this in years, and it'd be another ten before it's match could be met. Emily was reveling in just this thought.

For his part, Richard was happy for Emily to do this. A bit self-conscious about the vow renewal perhaps, but he would do anything now that he had Emily back in his life. Her pearl of a heart was just as precious to him as it ever was. Perhaps more so now that he'd almost lost it to the years of work, layered on top of worry, on top of growing old, on top of Lorelai's dramatics, and all the other things that can settle like dust in a marriage.

So the cake for this evening was going to be a masterpiece. It had to be. Photographers were coming from _Harpers _and _Town and Country_. And though a decade from now, nay, even a day from now, it would all be nothing but a memory in an album or a back issue, it would nonetheless still be a masterpiece---ephemeral, as all art must be.

So here it stood almost-finished before her now... _The cake_. Sookie was in the zone, oblivious to the morning's heat. There was nothing but cake and technique and experience merging together...

She leaned in, pastry bag and number six tip poised...

Now, most people use wooden dowels, cut to size, to anchor the layers. But Sookie would have none of that. No wooden sticks in her cakes! She uses specially handmade reeds of slightly softened hard candy, infused with the merest breath of liqueur, to secure her layers (a secret she guards fiercely.)

And, as Emily's chosen design featured looping and nesting bluebirds encircling this cake for four hundred, fondant would clearly need to be used rather than buttercream or royal. The thing is, though, most people do not care for the more sophisticated fondant flavor. A problem. Sookie resolved it, genius that she is, by carefully laying a layer of chocolate ganache over the entire cake and letting it set before then carefully layering marzipan, then the tinted fondant over all. This created an incredible taste (unique to her cakes) and anchored the layers together even more tightly.

You see, Sookie St. James feels that everything in a cake should be edible, nothing artificial or plastic or (_shudder_) wooden holding the layers together----Everything must be genuine. A complete commitment, if you will. This was a point of honor with her.

And now, to create the sugar-crystal bluebirds (sixty-five in all)....

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It was hot.

Rory Gilmore was stretched out on the Shaker four poster reading, having long given up trying to voice any opinion on any issue whatsoever to either her mother or grandmother. She was a bright girl after all.

The three Gilmore women were in the large guest room just off the head of the stairs checking and re-checking clothes and accessories for the evening ahead. Lorelai fretfully gazed out the window and down into the large back garden and lawn where the party rental people, under Michel's direction, were setting up tables, chairs, a wet bar replete with stools, a dance floor and orchestra stage, a sound system, a concert shell, and thousands of feet of twinkling lights, currently being looped about trees and any other vertical space available.

She really should get down there and help, the flower delivery would arrive any moment, but her mother was being her mother and talking about appropriate slips to wear under their dresses; appropriate strapless bras; the necessity of having extra stockings on hand; and the unsuitability of appearing in chiffon before five in the afternoon (as Biddy's granddaughter had done.) And, _finally_, how she'd die before anything rhinestone ever touched her body.

"Lorelai," Emily went on. And Lorelai knew by the tone alone that she did not want to hear what was about to follow.

"Lorelai," Emily began again, because she was far too clever to fall for Lorelai's 'I'm ignoring you' routine. "Elise will be here in fifteen minutes to cut your hair."

"What?! I don't want my hair cut, Mom," she turned from the window to whine.

"Nonsense. I insist. Your hair is nothing but wild. You have over-processed it to death. It is dull and those wide streaky hi-lights are unrealistic and cheap looking."

"Well, thanks a lot."

"No need to get defensive, Lorelai. I know you've had a difficult year. I imagine you had to go to some God-awful walk-in salon somewhere. But I'm having Elise come in from Fredericks' in the city to work her magic on you."

"Mom, I want my hair left alone!"

"Now, Lorelai, give me a chance. You're happy with the dresses I had made for you and Rory, aren't you?"

"Yes," Lorelai admitted reluctantly.

"And the diamond pendents?"

She sighed, "Yes."

"And you did promise to let me do things my way as this is my evening and I am, for all intents and purposes, a paying guest. Am I correct on this?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then give Elise a chance, Lorelai," Emily interrupted smoothly. "Do you want to look at pictures of this evening ten years from now and be horrified by your hair? Just a conditioning treatment maybe, then a trim. That's all I'm asking."

"That's all?" Lorelai asked suspiciously.

"Just conditioning, a trim, and balancing out the color, I promise."

"Wait a minute, you didn't say anything about color before!"

"Well, naturally I thought I made it clear about your streaky hi-lights a moment ago. Honestly, Lorelai, you make Gloria Steinam in nineteen-seventy-five look completely natural."

"Oh my God! It's that bad?" Lorelai turned quickly to look in the mirror. "Rory, is it that bad?" she asked her daughter, as she tried to look at the back of her own head.

"Well..." began Rory, looking up from her book tentatively, not wanting to be involved.

"Ah! Traitor!" Lorelai dramatically snapped at her.

"Sorry," mumbled Rory and returned to page fifty-six of _The Veil_.

"So," Emily went on, while ticking off on her fingers, "A conditioning treatment, a trim, balancing out the color, getting rid of some of those frizzy layers, and that should be it."

"My layers are not frizzy!"

"Knock, knock, may I come in?!"

They all turned to the slightly opened door.

"Elise! Thank you so much for coming," Emily greeted the young woman eagerly.

"A guy called Sam downstairs told me to come right up. I hope that was all right," said the stylish young woman as she began setting down the several carry bags she had draped about herself.

"That's fine," smiled Emily.

"Oh Emily, I am so excited for you," she then turned to squeeze the hand of her patroness, "My very best wishes."

"Well, thank you, dear."

"And this Inn–Heavenly!"

"Elise, this is my daughter Lorelai."

"Oh right! This is your Inn," said Elise with a smile at Lorelai.

Her hair looks pretty good, Lorelai had to grudgingly admit.

"Yes, it is. We've just opened this summer," she said.

"It's beautiful!"

"Well, thank you."

Emily grabbed Lorelai's chin then and tilted her head to varying angles.

"What do you think about this, Elise?"

"Ouch, Mom!" winced Lorelai.

"The layers have to go," pronounced Elise solemnly.

"That's what I thought!" Emily agreed triumphantly.

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It wasn't until well after lunch that Luke Danes had been able to get away from the diner and head over to Lorelai's to pick up the Chuppah. Apparently, upon Rory's suggestion, Emily had decided it was perfect for her extravaganza. He couldn't really see the point in vow renewal but, he guessed, the rich like an excuse to throw money around. And he was glad of the business it would surely bring Lorelai's way. But Geez already, did anyone really _need_ to fly in an entire orchestra from Paris?

After Morrie helped him load and secure the Chuppah, he swiped his brow, got in and headed back through town. He'd had a crappy morning, but as he headed to The Dragonfly his mood buoyed a little. This was the second wedding the Chuppah would be used for, and it had held up well in the yard, he noted in some pride.

He perked up then. Sat up a little straighter in the driver's seat. Ran his hand unconsciously under his hat, smoothing his hair. He would see her in a matter of minutes and that would make his morning dissolve away. His diner full of crazy townies melted further and further away in his mind as he drove nearer and nearer to her.

No doubt about it, he had it bad. He sighed.

Luke pulled his truck carefully into the graveled Inn drive then. He didn't need the damn Chuppah to fall over and break at this point.

Lorelai had made a good decision he observed, in following Taylor's advice and popping for the layering of the gravel over the dirt drive—If maintained, it could easily last a good ten years before she'd have to re-do. Much as he hated to admit that Taylor had ever been right about anything, the dust problem was indeed gone while the old-fashioned look of the place remained intact.

He swung around the circle then, and shifted into park behind one of three large party-rental trucks from Hartford. Guys were scurrying like ants everywhere, arms full of equipment. Luke's eyes widened as he began to grasp the scale this event was going to be on. What the hell was Emily Gilmore staging here? An inaugural ball?

He got out of the truck and walked into The Dragonfly's lobby: Nobody in sight there, so he headed through and out onto the back porch and scanned the activity to catch a glimpse of Lorelai. What he saw instead was a set-up Barnum and Bailey would envy.

_Geez._ Luke just shook his head.

"Oh, Sookie," breathed Lorelai, as all the women stood about the kitchen table staring at the magnificent cake before them.

"Is it all right?" asked Sookie nervously.

They all gazed, mouths open, at the nine-tiered, five and half foot marvel before them. The smooth porcelain-like sky-blue undercoat was twisted about with what seemed to be actual vine-encrusted tree branches, scattered with perfectly detailed bluebirds perched in every conceivable bird-position: Singing, cooing, nesting, sleeping with wee sugared beaks tucked under wee sugared wings. Until, finally, at the cake's peak (where the tree branches broke away to reveal the fluffy-frosted sky,) two joyous birds, in flight no less, hovered. So great was Sookie's artistry that these bluebirds were clearly in love.

"Oh. My. God. Sook, you have outdone yourself," said Lorelai softly.

"Really?" asked Sookie hopefully. "Because I thought that using an actual tree stump as the base might be too much."

"Sookie, it's wonderful," added Rory in awe.

"Did you have Kirk take a picture of it?" asked Lorelai.

"Yeah, he left a few minutes ago," she nodded.

They all turned their heads then at a small sob followed by a sigh.

"Mom?" said Lorelai as she turned in amazement. "Are you crying?"

Emily sniffed and pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from her pocket. "No," she told them.

"Well, she is the bride!" grinned Rory.

Lorelai nodded and slipped her arm around her mother. "Tell Sookie how much you like her cake before she has a heart attack, Mom."

"Oh, right! Sorry!" said Emily as she recovered herself. "Sookie, it is absolutely perfect. If this doesn't get half a page in _Harpers_, there is no justice in the world."

Sookie broke into a wide relieved grin at that. "Okay ladies, have a seat. I have fresh lemonade or coffee—but given the heat, I know only Lorelai will go for that."

They all sat down gratefully then to admire the wonder that was _The Cake_.

"It's too beautiful to eat," commented Elise.

"But it'll be delicious when we do!" crowed Lorelai.

Sookie blushed as she served the drinks, then sat down herself.

"Oh, my God! Lorelai! Your hair!" exclaimed her friend.

"Is it okay?" asked Lorelai.

"It's incredible," oooh-ed Sookie, as she took in the glossy dark ringlets brushing Lorelai's shoulders and framing her face.

"When you have a break later, Sookie, come upstairs and let Elise work her magic on you," offered Emily as she sipped her lemonade, her eyes never leaving the edible art before them.

"Well, thank you, Emily. I might just do that," Sookie giggled.

"How _are _you doing, Sookie?" asked Lorelai then.

"Well, the staff will be here in half an hour, then things will really get exciting. But I'm ready for it!"

"Good girl," smiled Lorelai into her sip.

"Sookie," said Elise thoughtfully, "What sort of cake would you create for an evening wedding at a jazz club for a bride who adores Billie Holiday?"

"Hmmm..." Sookie reflected. "Tall, seven layers dripping in shining dark chocolate ganache, an enormous corsage of edible gardenias as the crown."

"Oh, my!" gasped Elise. "That would be perfect."

"Are you engaged, Elise?" asked Lorelai into her coffee sip.

"No," answered Elise.

"Ah," nodded Lorelai in understanding.

"Oh, I want to play!" said Rory now, clapping her hands in excitement. "What about a springtime morning wedding in a meadow, lunches served in picnic baskets on quilts?—Oh, and violets everywhere!"

"Oh Rory! Not the cathedral downtown, then?" asked Emily sadly.

"Five large offset layers, each draped in a different fondant 'quilt'—The double wedding ring pattern at the top, of course," said Sookie without hesitation.

The ladies gave a long Oooo! in appreciative unison.

"She's a frickin' savant," said Lorelai with a shake of her head.

"What about you, Lorelai? Don't you want a turn?" asked Elise.

"No. I don't really have a dream wedding scenario," Lorelai admitted.

"What? Of course you do, everyone does!" Elise said in disbelief.

"Not me!" laughed Lorelai. "I'm getting a little old for that, I think."

"I'll tell you what I always dreamed for her," said Emily, a far-off gaze clouding her eyes.

"Mom..." groaned Lorelai in protest.

"Lorelai's wedding, ladies:" began Emily dramatically, "A recreation of The Winter Palace in St. Petersburg. Snow everywhere. Lorelai arrives in a silver sleigh by moonlight. A thousand candles burning..."

"Can't you just see Luke there?" Sookie giggled to Rory.

"Well, the flannel would keep him warm," Rory observed.

"Who's Luke?" asked Elise.

"The current potential groom, who'll be serving everyone fries at the reception," answered Emily dolefully.

"Mom!" barked Lorelai angrily.

"Oh, hey Luke!" said Sookie as she arose nervously.

All the ladies snapped their heads to the kitchen entrance then where Luke now stood, his expression unreadable.

Lorelai got to her feet quickly, spilling her coffee en route. Rory jumped to mop it up with a napkin before it hit the cake.

"Hey," Luke replied and then nodded to the other women. "Cake's beautiful, Sookie," he added.

"Thanks, Luke. Would you like some lemonade? It's awfully hot out," she offered.

"No, thanks. I was just looking for Lorelai here to tell me where to set up the Chuppah," he said looking Lorelai in the eye.

"Um, sure.... Come on," she said as she led him out, "Aren't you hot, Luke? Maybe you should take off the plaid. Dressing in layers in this weather is not really a good...---"

They women listened as her nervous babble trailed off.

"Oh dear," sighed Emily.

"Not good, Grandma," Rory agreed sadly, "It took him a decade to even ask her out, now it'll be another ten years before he works up to proposing, thanks to us."

And they all sat in silence a moment at that.

Until suddenly, Sookie burst forth...

"Got it! Yeah.... So: Simple private ceremony at City Hall in the autumn. Reception for all at The Diner after with all Luke's specialties (burgers, meatloaf, etc.) Cake: Cinnamon and Mocha layered coffee cake, of course; Four square layers; Maple sugar glaze frosting, and piped buttecream, alternating; Little plastic Bride and Groom Garden Gnomes on the top—Luke'll hate it. She'll make him do it, unless she compromises with just marzipan acorns and mushrooms. I'd be willing to bet that Lorelai'd get both out of him, though. There'll a carrot groom's cake on the side, too..."

And all the women could really do is stare at her after that.

"Oh, I almost forgot..." added Sookie after a moment.

"The ice cream?" asked Rory.

"Right," she nodded.


	6. Likely

For the TWOP ficathon Cocktail Challenge: Champagne

(Yes, I know it's not a cocktail. Thanks for the leeway.)

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Girl talk and feeling the champagne....

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They sat together, each a glass in hand, quietly in the gazebo.

It was late and they hadn't been able to have many words, so busy had the evening been.

But they were taking the time now....

"Oh my darling, if there is one thing I could teach you, one thing I could tell you, it is that men are who they are," she said quite kindly, and then added, "Have another glass of champagne."

The younger woman obliged the elder and dipped her glass into the bubbling champagne fountain and took a deep sip. How many glasses had she had so far? she wondered. Oh well, tonight was a special night.

"Oh, when we are young I suppose there is a chance, for a man to change that is, for a woman to maybe facilitate that," she mused further as her listener sat uncharacteristically silent, drinking it all in. (Hee. Word play.) She took another sip and smiled quietly. "But only the strongest of characters, those most proficient at communication and, well, _teaching_, for lack of a better word, are able to accomplish the molding of a man."

"But, I don't want to mold anyone," the younger woman finally spoke up.

"Yes, well, that is where you are unique, or believe you are," smiled the woman of experience, as she dipped her own glass into the fountain again. "Most women assume that men will change. Hope that they will. Believe that they project a certain gruff exterior to disguise a very tender interior—So tender is this interior, most women imagine, that it could only be something cooked up out of fiction (the sort usually written by women, of course)" she added with a laugh.

"So men aren't tender on the inside?" asked the younger woman slyly.

The older woman shrugged indifferently, "Perhaps. Some. Perhaps. But, as I said, most are who they are. It is not at all likely that they will change. It is not likely that women will change either, so why should we expect that men, poor misguided creatures that they are, should do any better?"

It was the younger woman's turn to shrug into her sip now.

"For instance," went on the worldly sage, "If a man says he doesn't want children, it is wise to believe him."

"I would," her companion agreed.

"You see, such a statement has nothing to do with sex. Something like this is said as a truth because it is not designed to lure a woman into bed. And, in general, it is not said just to avoid commitment. These are the instances where men tend to lie."

"Okay." Couldn't really dispute that.

"But, alas, women do not want to believe this. They delude themselves. They believe that men will change. It has been my experience that the kind ones can be bullied, but do not truly change."

"That sounds pretty cynical," complained the younger woman.

"It is," she was assured.

They sat quietly a moment then, together in the warm summer night, in the gazebo so new it still smelled of varnish, watching the champagne fountain bubble, listening to its rhythmic flow.

"Take my sister," she took up the subject again, looking across to the dance floor, "She thinks her husband has changed, has come round to her way of understanding about what family means, and so they reconcile and have this glorious event. But it is a delusion."

"I sincerely hope not," she frowned.

The beautiful older woman nodded in sympathetic understanding. "You want the delusion too, of course."

"I want their reconciliation to be real."

"Oh well,_ real_ is another matter," the woman waved her hand to indicate that this was an entirely different issue. "A delusion can be real, if mutually decided to be such. The delusion her husband has changed will probably last them the rest of their marriage. And they will both be happy for it."

"So, this 'blowpop' theory of yours:" the younger woman turned in to the elder with a question, "Men do not harbor secretly soft interior personalities... "

"It is wisest to believe so," she smiled indulgently.

"They cannot be changed, although perhaps, through mutual delusion, can seem to."

"Correct."

"Wow. What about growth? What about a meeting of minds? What about love?"

"What about these things?" the woman of the world inquired gently.

"Well, don't these things overcome all?"

"Ah, you are a romantic, I see. Despite your independence. That is refreshingly... provincial of you," she responded merrily, and then, "I do not say this to belittle you, dear. Truly."

The young woman smiled a bit ruefully at that.

And each took another thoughtful sip of champagne.

"I would add to all this," went on the older woman, "That so many women break their own hearts by refusing to see the truth, or by hoping men will magically read their minds and become the romantics, the baby-lovers, or the communicators that they are not. It is tragic," she mused sadly. "And, of course, I will allow that communication can be learned by the willing ones..." she reflected further, "But real change is not likely," she concluded and took another sip of champagne.

"I think I might be depressed now."

"Don't be, Cherie. You are wise, like all the women in your family. You will wait and find him—the one for you. And you will not expect him to change. That will be your gift to him: Acceptance."

"But if all men are...."

"Not all. Just most, my dear."

They each stood then and stepped up to the champagne fountain once more to dip their flutes in, then turned to stand at the gazebo railing and look out upon the colorful spinning couples. The orchestra played; _You Go To My Head..._

"However," the wiser woman went on quietly, "There are rare men. The most worthwhile. These change themselves. They mature in the real sense of the word and become what can be most wonderful in any human being—Actualized, Nurturing, Strong. They can be found, these men, though not easily. Their discovery is not likely."

She mulled that a moment, as she stared out and drank her champagne: These words from this goddess of experience. This Olympian of love. She questioned their truth in the modern world, but also recognized a certain legitimacy in their meaning. And what did that mean to a woman such as herself who, while independent, also wanted equality and friendship? That she should keep trying, she supposed, because, (as she was rarely delusional,) she had perhaps already discovered someone very 'likely' indeed.

"Cheers, Aunt Hope," she smiled then and raised her glass, "and, Thank you."

She felt a lifting in her heart then, despite (or because of?) the champagne and despite the grim, though elegantly delivered, words of advice on the nature of men and romance.

"Certainly, my dear," responded the older woman as she gently clinked her glass to the other. "Isn't it lovely to stand here on a beautiful summer night, drink champagne, and talk of love?"

"Is that what we were talking of?" she challenged with a smile.

"But of course! They do not change, men, but we love them anyway, and what is more likely than that?"


	7. Last

For the TWOP ficathon Final Challenge: _A Little More Talk, A Lot Less Action. _

A Conversation you'd never hear on the show. Must be dialogue only.

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Mother and daughter talk... at last.

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"Hmmm...Thank God the rain held off until today."

"Yes, I'm glad the good weather lasted for us. It would have been a disaster if it had rained last night."

"Hey, Rory? You okay over there, Kid?"

"Mom, do you remember the last line in _Charlotte's Web_?"

"This sure is delicious bacon, Zeke?"

"No, Mom. It was about how rare it is to find someone who is a good writer and a good friend and that Charlotte was both."

"Okay... Why are you thinking about that?"

"These just seem to be pretty worthy goals to have, don't you think? Being a good writer and a good friend, I mean."

"Yes, Rory, _I_ think they do."

"Thank you, Grandma."

"Ladies! Sorry to interrupt but I have leftover wedding cake and coffee for all!"

"Oh Sookie, you are a _saint_, my friend! There is nothing better than cake and coffee on the Bloody Morning After—or, in this case, the Rainy Morning After... 'Cause... Oh man, I'm just too wiped out to be droll."

"Hangover still hangin', Sweetie?"

"That tin soldier will just not ride away... Oh, Yum! God, seriously Sookie, this cake is straight from heaven!"

"Rory, do you want a piece?"

"No thanks, Sookie, I'm going to just go upstairs now and lay down for awhile. Late night, you know. See you later, Grandma."

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"She okay?"

"She'll be fine."

"I've never known her to turn down cake before."

"She'll be fine."

"Okay, well I'll be in the kitchen if she changes her mind."

"Thank you, Sookie."

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"Does she have a broken heart?"

"Who?"

"You are well aware 'who'. My granddaughter, that's who. We are alone now, you can tell me."

"Oh, Mom... Yes, I believe she does..."

"Has some boy that I didn't know about broken up with her?"

"I shouldn't say, Mom. It's Rory's business. But there is much more to it than that. It is possible, sometimes, to break your own heart, I think."

"I see."

"Can we talk about something else, please?"

"All right. Everything was beautiful last night, Lorelai."

"Well, thanks Mom. I hope it all came off just the way you wanted."

"It did. Your hard work payed off. And the good citizens of Stars' Hollow added quite the color to the event. My friends really enjoyed all the eccentrics you seem to have such a large stock of around here."

"It was fun. _Eccentrics_, though? Yeah, I guess I can see that: Kirk being their crown prince. But at least it's nice and quiet around here today. I'm finally getting to really enjoy my Inn. It's nice."

"Despite the company?"

"I didn't say that!"

"No, you didn't. You didn't _say_ it."

"The company's fine, Mom."

"You know, Lorelai, Rory's far too young for any kind of lasting relationship right now. She shouldn't be too serious about anyone at this point in her life—if that is her problem, of course."

"Hmmm...."

"What?"

"You sure wanted me in something lasting when I was much younger than she."

"That was different and you know it."

"Yes it was, but it still doesn't mean that it would have been right for me, despite the circumstances. You and I both know that it never would have lasted, Mom."

"Well, we'll never know now, Lorelai."

"I do. I know... But I want to say now... At least I think I should say (and, yes, I _want_ to as well) that I am sorry about it, though... for your sake that is."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I disappointed you back then. That's all. And I've never told you that. And now, that things are what they are... I mean, I know you had certain... ideas... certain ways... of being... in mind for me. And I'm sorry I couldn't be that for you. It just wasn't who I was... or _am_. And now I realize that you must have been very hurt by my choice and.... well, disappointed in me too. I guess it took... getting to this point in my life to really... understand... how you must have felt at that time.... So, I'm sorry."

"Lorelai, my God! What has happened with Rory? And what has happened to you?"

"Nothing!... But Mom, you know Chris and I never would have lasted, you do know that now, don't you?"

"Lorelai, stop trying to change the subject."

"No, that's the subject now. I'm on _this_ subject: You know that it never would have lasted, Mom, don't you? Me and Chris and being sixteen? It wouldn't have worked. It couldn't have."

"Yes, I suppose I do. I do know that now, Lorelai."

"Well, that's... Wait! You do?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, good. And, thank you, Mom."

"You're welcome. And thank you, Lorelai. You're still not going to talk to me about Rory though, are you?"

"It's her's, Mom. I told you that."

"All right. All right."

"So, tomorrow you and Dad go off to Hong Kong. You've been quite the traveler this summer."

"Yes, I guess I have."

"A second honeymoon! Very exciting! Very Elizabeth Taylor. And they said you two kids would never last!"

"Well, it hasn't always been easy."

"Wow, Mom, I believe that's the most you've ever said to me about you and dad."

"I believe you're right on that. Lorelai, is Rory going to be all right?"

"Oh, Mom... I think so. I think she just needs to focus in a little more sharply on the reality of who she is and who she wants to be in her life."

"But, I thought journalism...?"

"Well, yes, she does want to be a journalist. But Rory needs to be thinking about the big picture right now too, in terms of who she is and how she affects people in her life."

"That sounds quite dire."

"Yeah, it does... I don't know.... You know, Mom... I've focused so completely on her for so much of my life... Here I've been Eddie's best friend all these years, you know... but now, I wonder... I'm wondering..."

"Yes?"

"I wonder now if that was right. If I did things right. 'Cause I think the courtship is over."

"It's not like you to doubt yourself, Lorelai. And Rory's a wonderful girl."

"No, it isn't like me... I hope you won't hold that against me. And, yes, she is a wonderful girl."

"I appreciate your candor, Lorelai. And I'll tell you something now, one mother to another: You never know, until much later in life, and maybe not even then, what kind of lasting effects you will have had on your child."

"God, that saddens me more than I can say."

"I can certainly understand that. And so what about you, Lorelai?"

"What _about _me?"

"What about you and Luke?"

"Uh, where're you going on _that_, Mom?"

"What? I'm not allowed to ask?"

"What is it you want to know exactly?"

"Well, for instance: Will it _last_?"

"Yes."

"Well, good. Now, that wasn't so hard was it?"


End file.
